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UBRARt 
DIVERSITY  OF  CALIFOf 
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JTamoii5  Momeiu 


ADELAIDE      R  I  S  T  O  R  I. 


Already  published : 

George  Eliot.     By  Miss  Blind. 
Emily  Bronte.     By  Miss  Robinson. 
George  Sand.     By  Miss  Thomas. 
Mary  Lamb.     By  Mrs.  Gilchrist. 
Margaret  Fuller.     By  Julia  Ward  Howe. 
Maria  Edgeworth.     By  Miss  Zimmern. 
Elizabeth  Fry.     By  Mrs.  E.  R.  Pitman. 
The  Countess  of  Albany.     By  Vernon  Lee. 
Mary  Wollstonecraft.      By  Mrs.  E.  R.  Pennell. 
Harriet  Martineau.   By  Mrs.  F.  Fenwick  Miller. 
Rachel.     By  Mrs.  Nina  H.  Kennard. 
Madame   Roland.     By  Mathilda  Blind. 
Susanna  Wesley.     By  Eliza  Clarke. 
^LAJiGARET  OF  Angouleme.     By  iNIiss  Robinson. 
Mrs.   Siddons.'  ■  By  Mrs.  Nina  H.  Kennard. 
Madame  de  Stael.     By  Bella  Duffy. 
Hannah -More.     By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge. 
Adelaide  Ristori.     An  Autobiography. 


ADELAIDE     RISTORI 


STUDIES  AND   MEMOIRS. 


^n  ^utoluograpjjix-. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 

iS8S. 


Copyright,  1888, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


University  Press; 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


PREFACE. 


"Life  is  a  journey,'-  they  say.  Certainly  this 
proverb  could  be  applied  to  me.  My  existence  has 
been  wholly  passed  in  long  journeys,  and  I  have 
carried  on  my  art  in  all  countries. 

Under  every  sky  I  have  personated  the  immortal 
heroines  of  immortal  masterpieces,  and  I  have  seen 
the  powerful  accents  of  human  passion  thrill  with 
intense  emotion  the  most  different  peoples. 

I  have  brought  into  this  task,  often  very  heavy,  my 
whole  art  conscience ;  I  have  sought  even  to  live  the 
actual  life  of  the  personages  I  represented ;  I  have 
studied  the  manners  of  their  times ;  I  have  gone 
back  to  historical  sources,  which  enabled  me  to 
reconstitute  faithfully  their  personality,  sometimes 
gentle,  sometimes  terrible,  always  grand. 

The  applause  bestowed  upon  me  has  rewarded  my 
honest  efforts;  but  I  must  say  again  that  I  have 
experienced  the  most  lively  pleasure  when  I  suc- 
ceeded  in   identifying  myself  sufficiently  with   the 

(v) 


VI 


PREFACE. 


characters  of  the  tragedies  which  I  was  playing; 
when  I  felt  myself  inspired  by  the  great  breath  which 
animated  them,  and  my  whole  soul  vibrated  to  the 
passions  I  was  to  interpret.  I  have  often  left  the 
stage,  after  extreme  tension  of  nerves,  half  dead 
with  fatigue  and  emotion,  but  always  happy. 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  Page. 

I. — Childhood  and  Debut  in  Italy   .        .     i 

II. — First  Journey  to  France         .         .        23 

III. — My  First  Tour  in  Europe  .        .        .50 

IV. — Long  Tour  in  Europe,  and  First  Visit 

TO  America  .         .         .         -70 

V, — Second  Visit  to  America,  and  other 

Artistic  Journeys  .        .        .         102 

VI. — Journey  round  the  World       .        .109 

VII. — Mary  Stuart           .         .         .         .  140 

VIII. — Myrrha 17s 

IX. — Medea 197 

X. — Phaedra 222 

XL — Lady  Macbeth        ,         .        .         .  249 

XII. — Queen  Elizabeth       ....  267 


ADELAIDE    RISTORI.     . 

CHAPTER  I. 

CHILDHOOD   AND   DEBUT   IN    ITALY. 

Born  a  member  of  an  artistic  family,  it  was  nat- 
ural that  I  should  be  dedicated  to  the  dramatic  art, 
and  this  being,  as  it  were,  my  natural  destiny,  it  is 
not  surprising  that  my  parents  should  have  accus- 
tomed me  to  the  footlights  even  from  my  birth.  For 
I  was  not  yet  three  months  old  when,  a  child  being 
wanted  in  a  little  farce  called  The  New  Year's  Gift, 
the  manager  availed  himself  of  the  services  of  the 
latest  addition  to  his  company,  and  I,  poor  baby,  with 
my  mother's  consent,  made  my  first  appearance  in 
public. 

The  subject  of  the  comedy  was  extremely  simple 
and  common-place.  A  young  lady  having  been  for- 
bidden by  her  father  to  marry  the  lover  to  whom  she 
was  passionately  attached,  wedded  him  clandestinely, 
and  in  due  time  had  a  son. 

Not  having  the  courage  to  communicate  this  terrible 
fact  to  her  inexorable  parent,  the  young  mother  de- 
cided to  confide  in  an  old  man,  who  was  a  dependent 
of  the  house,  and  who  had  helped  her  in  other  diffi- 
culties.    He  sympathised  greatly  with  the  troubles 

(i) 


2  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

of  the  two  delinquents,  promised  to  assist  them  to 
obtain  the  paternal  pardon,  and  for  that  purpose 
decided  on  a  singular  stratagem. 

It  was  the  custom  then,  as  it  is  now,  to  give  pres- 
ents at  the  beginning  of  the  New  Year.  In  country 
districts  the  proprietors  of  estates  and  owners  of 
houses  are  considered  as  the  principal  people  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  their  tenants  are  in  the  habit  of 
then  offering  to  their  master  the  best  of  their  fruits, 
their  largest  fowls,  and  their  finest  eggs.  So  the 
worthy  servant  in  the  comedy  determined  to  place 
the  poor  child  in  a  large  cov^ered  basket  among  the 
fruit  and  poultry  (taking,  of  course,  every  precaution 
that  it  was  neither  crushed  nor  suffocated),  and  sent 
it  by  a  peasant  to  his  master. 

The  stage  was  duly  prepared  for  the  arrival  of  the 
customary  offerings.  All  the  family  and  the  guests 
who  had  been  dining  with  the  master  of  the  house 
collected  round  the  basket  as  soon  as  it  was  brought 
in,  ready  to  admire  its  contents,  and  in  the  back- 
ground appeared  the  comic  countenance  of  the  good 
servant,  who  rubbed  his  hands  with  a  smiling  and 
self-satisfied  air  as  he  waited  patiently  for  the  success 
of  his  stratagem. 

At  last  his  master  opened  the  basket.  With  real 
satisfaction  he  began  to  take  out  and  examine  the 
various  gifts.  First  the  fowls,  then  the  eggs,  then 
the  fruit ;  but  it  seemed  as  though  the  excessive  fra- 
grance of  this  latter  had  affected  me,  for  before  there 
was  time  to  lift  me  from  the  basket  I  began  to  shriek 
in  lusty  tones.  Imagine  the  amazement  produced 
by  such  an  appearance  on  the  stage ! 


CHILDHOOD   AND   DEBUT  IN  ITALY.  3 

The  grandfather,  in  his  surprise,  took  an  involun- 
tary step  backward,  while  his  good  old  servant,  with- 
out much  ceremony,  lifted  me  from  the  basket  and 
placed  me  in  his  arms.  The  spectators  stood  with 
their  mouths  open,  the  husband  and  wife  tried  to 
justify  themselves ;  but  my  cries  increased  so  much 
in  intensity,  and  gave  such  evident  proof  of  my  good 
lungs,  that  I  was  hastily  carried  off  to  my  mother's 
chamber,  where  I  found  what  alone  would  quiet  me 
at  that  moment. 

The  public,  of  course,  went  into  a  fit  of  laughter 
especially  as  it  seems  that  my  voice  was  then  so  loud 
and  shrill  as  completely  to  drown  the  actors'  words. 

Whenever  my  mother  related  this  incident  to  me — 
and  Heaven  knows  she  was  never  weary  of  repeat- 
ing it — she  always  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes. 

On  another  occasion,  when  I  was  about  three  years 
of  age,  a  play  called  Bianca  and  Fernando,  by  Avel- 
loni,  was  put  upon  the  stage.  The  time  was  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  I  had  to  take  the  part  of  the  little 
boy  belonging  to  the  widowed  mistress  of  the  castle, 
who  was  passionately  beloved  by  a  noble  knight. 
But  another  great  personage  in  the  neighborhood, 
to  whose  care  her  dying  husband  had  confided  his 
wife,  and  who  possessed  the  supreme  power  in  that 
country,  was  also  in  love  with  the  lady,  and  desirous 
of  gaining  her  hand. 

There  was  one  scene  in  the  play  in  which  this  lat- 
ter nobleman,  seeing  himself  constantly  repulsed  by 
the  widow,  and  finding  she  was  determined  to  unite 
herself  to  the  man  of  her  heart,  cost  what  it  might, 


4  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

resolved  to  raise  such  a  tumult  as  would  frighten  her 
into  compliance  with  his  wishes.  The  partisans  of 
both  combatants  were  ready  to  come  to  blows,  when 
the  lady  thrust  herself  between  them  to  try  and  avert 
the  conflict.  Thereupon  the  tyrant  seized  the  child 
who  had  been  left  alone  for  a  moment,  and  threatened 
to  murder  him  unless  the  mother  did  as  he  desired. 

Then  ensued  a  general  panic.  It  was  in  vain  they 
tried  to  snatch  me  from  his  arms.  The  cries  of  my 
poor  mother  ascended  to  heaven.  The  tumult  and 
noise  terrified  me.  I  began  to  cry,  to  fight  about  in 
my  captor's  grasp,  to  pull  his  beard  with  my  little 
hands,  and  scratch  his  face  in  my  attempts  to  free 
myself.  And  with  such  success  that  at  last  he  let 
me  slip  from  his  arms,  and  I  scampered  away  as 
fast  as  my  legs  would  carry  me,  screaming  at  the  top 
of  my  voice,  "  Mamma  !  mamma!  he  is  hurting  me!" 
and  eluding  all  the  efforts  of  the  actors  to  catch  me, 
while  they  exclaimed,  "Stop!  stop!  It  is  a  joke! 
it  is  nothing !  " 

I  was  speedily  behind  the  scenes,  where  I  threw 
myself  into  the  arms  of  my  mother,  and  clung  to  her 
in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  those  who  came  in  search 
of  me  to  continue  the  act.  Alas  !  they  were  obliged 
to  drop  the  curtain  amid  universal  laughter. 

Seeing  myself  such  a  favorite  with  the  public, 
although  a  little  girl,  I  had  already  acquired  a  good 
share  of  the  cunning  of  the  stage,  and,  understanding 
that  I  bore  an  important  part  in  our  little  company, 
I  had  begun  to  take  the  tone  and  airs  of  a  grown-up 
woman. 

I  remember  it  was  then  the  custom  for  the  most 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.         5 

fluent  and  easy-mannered  of  the  company  to  come 
before  the  curtain  in  the  interval  before  the  last  act 
and  announce  the  play  for  the  following  evening  to 
the  public,  indicating  also  which  actor  or  actress 
would  sustain  the  principal  character  in  it;  and,  ac- 
cording to  the  interest  the  public  took  in  the  player 
announced,  there  would  be  either  a  murmur  of  ap- 
probation or  a  hearty  applause.  The  members  of 
the  company  crowded  with  curiosity  to  the  curtain  to 
listen  to  this  manifestation  of  the  public.  I  naturally 
had  also  my  little  ambitious  curiosity,  and  when  it 
was  announced  that  the  little  comedy  ending  the 
performance  would  be  the  particular  task  of  the 
little  Ristori,  the  public  burst  into  loud  applause. 
They  all  then  came  round  me  with  jesting  compli- 
ments, whilst  I  walked  off  behind  the  scenes  with 
my  hands  in  my  apron  pockets,  shaking  my  head 
and  shrugging  my  shoulders,  saying  with  pretended 
annoyance,  "  WJiat  a  bore  !  Always  making  me  act ! " 
while  I  was  secretly  exulting  in  my  heart. 

What  would  those  who  love  to  prophesy  the  future 
life  of  children  from  the  observation  of  their  early 
tendencies  have  said  of  me  after  this  last  escapade 
just  recorded  ?  Why,  that  the  stage  would  have 
been  -hateful  to  me,  that  I  should  never  have  been 
able  to  sustain  any  tragic  parts  or  endure  to  see  a 
sword  or  dagger  brandished  in  the  air.  And,  instead 
of"  that,  I  devoted  myself  to  tragedy,  and  the  sword 
and  dagger  became  the  familiar  weapons  of  my  craft. 

When  I  was  but  four  and  a  half  years  old  I  was 
already  made  to  act  little  farces  in  which  I  took  the 
principal  character,  qnd  I  should  not  like  to  be  ac- 


6  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

cused  of  impudence  if,  in  deference  to  the  truth,  I 
record  in  these  memoirs  the  no  inconsiderable  profit 
which  my  manager  drew  from  this  my  early  appear- 
ance on  the  stage. 

I  remember  that  at  the  age  of  ten  I  was  entrusted 
by  preference  with  the  minor  parts  of  servants,  and 
my  manager  made  me  rehearse  several  times  such  a 
small  matter  as  carrying  in  and  laj'ing  down  a  letter, 
so  that  I  should  not  appear  to  do  it  in  either  too 
familiar  or  too  prim  a  manner. 

At  twelve  I  was  selected  for  the  parts  of  children ; 
and  shortly  after,  my  rapid  growth  enabling  them  to 
dress  me  as  a  little  woman,  they  entrusted  me  with 
the  small  parts  of  soubrettes.  They  seem  to  have 
taken  it  into  their  heads  that  I  was  only  adapted  for 
that  kind  of  role. 

But  at  thirteen  I  had  developed  so  much  in  per- 
son, that  I  was  occasionally  allowed  to  play  as  second 
lady,  a  most  monstrous  thing  certainly,  but  one  that 
could  not  well  be  avoided  in  small  companies. 
When  I  was  fourteen  I  joined  the  company  of  the 
famous  actor  and  manager,  Moncalvo,  to  take  the 
parts  of  young  first  ladies,  and  act  sometimes  as 
prima  donna,  in  turn  with  another  actress,  and  it  was 
then  that  I  undertook,  for  the  first  time,  the  character 
of  Francesca  da  Rimini,  in  the  play  by  Silvio  Pellico, 
which  I  performed  in  the  city  of  Novara  in  Piedmont. 
The  result  of  my  attempts  was  so  satisfactory  that 
when  I  was  sixteen,  I  was  offered  the  important  post 
of  permanent  first  lady  on  very  advantageous  terms. 
But  my  excellent  father,  who  was  gifted  with  plenty 
of  good  sense,  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  tempted 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.  / 

by  these  offers.  He  considered  that  by  thus  prema- 
turely overtasking  my  energies,  I  should  probably 
lose  my  health,  and  stop  my  progress  in  my  art,  and 
he  therefore  declined  the  proposal,  preferring  for  me 
the  more  modest  part  of  an  "ingenue,"  which  was 
offered  me  in  the  Royal  Theatrical  Company  in  the 
service  of  the  King  of  Sardinia,  and  which  then 
passed  several  months  of  the  year  at  Turin.  This 
company  was  directed  by  the  manager,  Gaetano 
Bazzi,  the  most  intelligent  and  able  manager  of  that 
day.  He  ruled  his  company  with  a  firm  hand,  and 
though  severe  in  some  things,  yet  he  succeeded  in 
turning  out  very  good  artists. 

Prominent  among  the  members  of  this  brilliant 
company  were  those  luminaries  of  the  Italian  stage, 
Vestris,  the  Marchionni,  Romagnoli,  Righetti,  and 
many  others,  whose  names  are  as  famous  in  dramatic 
art  as  are  those  of  Pasta,  Malibran,  Rubini,  and 
Tamburini  on  the  operatic  stage. 

My  engagement  as  "  ingenue  "  was  for  four  years, 
but  at  the  end  of  the  first  I  played  the  parts  of  the 
leading  young  ladies,  and  during  the  two  last  I  was 
the  actual  first  lady.  Thus  my  gradual  progress  step 
by  step  led  to  this  splendid  result,  for  which  I  had 
also  to  thank  my  careful  education  so  well  directed 
by  my  excellent  teacher,  the  esteemed  actress,  Car- 
lotta  Marchionni,  who  vied  with  the  manager,  Gaet- 
ano Bazzi,  in  kindness  towards  me. 

At  that  period  my  artistic  education  began  in 
earnest.  Then  it  was  I  acquired  that  knowledge 
which  placed  me  in  a  condition  to  discern  the  quali- 
ties which  make  the  true  artist. 


8  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

My  power  of  giving  expression  to  the  stronger  and 
fiercer  passions  gradually  increased,  though  my  nat- 
ural disposition  led  me  to  prefer  those  of  a  more 
gentle  and  tender  kind.  I  carefully  observed  and 
studied  them,  in  order  to  learn  how  best  to  blend  the 
contrasts  between  them  into  one  harmonious  whole  ; 
a  most  minute,  difficult,  and  sometimes  tedious  task, 
but  one  of  the  greatest  importance  and  necessity. 
The  transitions  in  a  part  in  which  two  extremely  op- 
posite passions  are  called  into  play  are,  to  it,  what 
the  chiaro  oscuro  is  to  a  picture ;  they  unite  and 
amalgamate  its  various  portions,  and  thus  give  a 
truthful  representation  without  allowing  the  artifice  to 
appear. 

To  succeed  in  this  you  must  make  a  study  of  the 
best  actors,  and  if  you  are  endowed  by  nature  with 
artistic  genius  you  must  be  careful  not  to  circum- 
scribe it  by  servile  imitation,  but  rather  to  try  and 
accumulate  rich  stores  of  scenic  erudition,  which  may 
be  given  out  to  the  public  stamped  with  the  hall-mark 
of  original  and  creative  individuality. 

There  are  some  people  who  fancy  that  the  acci- 
dents of  good  birth,  and  an  excellent  education  are 
enough  to  enable  them  to  tread  the  stage  with  the 
same  ease  and  freedom  that  they  would  enter  a  ball- 
room, and  they  do  not  hesitate  to  appear  there  in  the 
full  belief  that  they  can  acquit  themselves  as  well  as 
an  actor  who  has  grown  upon  it.  This  is  a  great  mis- 
take. One  of  the  principal  difficulties. they  encounter 
at  the  very  outset  is  that  of  not  knowing  how  to  walk 
upon  the  stage,  which  by  the  sensible  incline  of  its  con- 
struction makes  the  steps  of  a  novice  very  unsteady. 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.         9 

I  may  cite  myself  as  an  example  of  this  difficulty. 
Although  I  had  been  dedicated  to  the  theatre  from 
my  earliest  infancy,  and  instructed,  day  by  day,  with 
the  greatest  care  by  my  paternal  grandmother,  yet, 
even  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  my  movements  had  not 
acquired  that  freedom  and  naturalness  necessary  to 
render  me  perfectly  at  home  on  the  stage,  and  I  still 
felt  a  slight  nervousness. 

No  less  important  is  the  study  of  elocution  in  order 
to  speak  distinctly. 

The  diction  ought  to  be  clear,  distinct,  not  too 
slow,  well  understood,  in  order  not  to  fall  into  any 
mannerisms,  but  at  the  same  time  deliberate  enough 
to  allow  the  audience  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  every 
word,  and  there  must  not  be  any  suspicion  of  stam- 
mering. 

When  my  artistic  training  began,  elocution  was  a 
point  to  which  the  greatest  importance  was  attached, 
as  enabling  a  judgment  to  be  formed  of  the  value  of 
an  actress.  The  public  was  then  a  very  severe  critic; 
in  our  days  this  same  public  has  grown  less  exacting, 
less  particular,  and  does  not  pride  itself  too  much  on 
forming  an  actress  by  correcting  her  faults.  Accord- 
ing to  my  ideas  the  present  system  is  not  just,  for  it 
is  certainly  not  by  excessive  indulgence,  or  by  simply 
considering  the  good  qualities  without  attempting  to 
correct  the  bad  ones,  that  real  artists  are  made. 

It  is  my  decided,  conviction  that  no  one  who  de- 
sires to  devote  his  life  to  the  stage  ought  to  begin 
his  studies  by  assuming  parts  of  great  importance, 
whether  in  Comedy,  Drama,  or  Tragedy.  The  task 
is  too  great  for  a  beginner,  and  may  in  some  way 


10  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

damage  his  future,  either  by  leaving  him  over- 
whelmed with  discouragement  in  consequence  of  the 
difficulties  he  has  encountered,  or  by  filling  him 
with  excessive  vanity,  because  of  the  consideration 
with  which  his  attempt  has  been  received,  and  which 
will  probably  cause  him  to  neglect  the  study  essen- 
tial to  further  success.  By  confining  himself,  on  the 
contrary,  to  small  parts,  whether  they  are  congenial 
or  not,  he  will  render  himself  familiar  with  the  stage, 
and  acquire  a  correct  and  natural  way  of  acting; 
and  he  may  rest  assured  that  by  taking  pains  to 
render  these  correctly,  he  will  be  preparing  for  better 
things,  and  his  study  will  be  more  accurate. 

But  to  return  to  my  subject.  In  the  year  I840  my 
position  as  -di prima  dotma  was  completely  established, 
and,  thanks  to  the  favor  of  Fortune,  I  saw  myself 
rapidly  arrive  at  the  summit  of  my  ambition,  strug- 
gling, meanwhile,  with  courage  against  every  obstacle 
that  interposed  to  prevent  the  full  accomplishment  of 
my  successful  and  very  happy  career.  I  never  felt 
any  fatigue,  and  such  was  my  passion  for  the  stage, 
that  when  my  manager  chanced  to  give  me  a  quiet 
evening,  in  order  not  to  overdo  my  strength,  and 
perhaps,  also,  a  little  with  the  malicious  design  of 
making  the  public  miss  me,  I  felt  quite  like  a  fish  out 
of  water.  It  was  in  vain  I  meant  to  devote  these 
leisure  evenings  to  the  study  of  a  new  and  difficult 
part,  I  applied  myself  to  it  with  the  greatest  ardor, 
but  when  the  hour  struck  for  the  play  to  begin  I  was 
seized  with  such  restlessness,  that  nothing  sufficed  to 
calm  me.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  first  chords  of  the 
orchestra,  the  impatient  murmur  of  the  audience,  the 


CHILD flOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.       II 

intoxicating  sounds  of  applause.  I  walked  up  and 
down  my  room  with  rapid  steps,  seeking  to  distract 
my  mind ;  I  tried  to  repeat  from  memory  some  of 
the  passages  in  the  play  I  had  been  studying.  It 
was  all  of  no  use.  I  could  apply  myself  to  nothing; 
and  at  last  I  hastily  entered  my  mother's  chamber, 
saying : 

"  Shall  we  go  for  an  hour  to  the  theatre  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  us  go,  then,"  she  answered,  "  if  you 
cannot  keep  away  from  it  for  one  evening." 

Immediately  we  put  on  our  cloaks  and  hats,  and 
went.  As  soon  as  we  reached  the  theatre,  my  spirits 
rose,  and  I  began  to  think  of  all  sorts  of  practical 
jokes  to  play  upon  my  fellow  actors.  I  remember 
that  on  one  of  these  occasions  they  were  performing 
Le  Memorie  del  Diavolo,  and  a  number  of  masks  were 
required  in  one  part  of  the  comedy.  The  whim 
seized  me  to  appear  on  the  stage  under  a  mask,  and 
surprise  the  first  actor.  It  was  in  vain  they  attempted 
to  dissuade  rAe  from  this  childish  trick.  Then,  enter- 
ing my  room  to  put  on  a  domino,  and  to  cover  half 
my  face  with  a  tiny  black  mask,  was  the  work  of  a 
minute ;  and  so  dressed,  I  went  on  the  stage  among 
the  Figurantes. 

When  midnight  struck,  it  was  necessary  for  us  all 
to  unmask ;  and  what  an  ugly  face  the  first  actor 
made  at  me,  as  soon  as  he  discovered  who  I  was ! 
But  though  I  had  difficulty  in  stifling  my  laughter,  I 
remained  immovable,  and  quite  undisturbed  by  the 
affair  ;  and  the  audience,  becoming  aware  of  the  true 
state  of  the  case,  burst  into  hearty  applause.  Then; 
seeing  how  badly  my  companion  took  this  little  pleas- 


12  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

antry,  I  withdrew  from  sight  among  the  crowd  of 
silent  characters  that  filled  the  stage,  and,  hiding 
myself  behind  them,  laughingly  asked  pardon  for  my 
folly  of  my  good  comrade,  a  pardon  that  was  readily 
granted  me. 

But  my  humor  was  not  always  gay.  Sometimes  I 
fell  a  victim  to  an  inexplicable  melancholy,  which 
weighed  on  my  heart  like  lead,  and  filled  my  mind 
with  dark  thoughts.  I  believe  that  this  strange  ine- 
quality of  temperament  might  be  entirely  attributed 
to  the  excessive  emotion  I  experienced  in  performing 
my  most  impassioned  parts.  For  I  so  entirely  iden- 
tified myself  with  the  characters  I  represented  that, 
in  the  end,  my  health  began  to  suffer,  and  one  evening, 
when  I  had  been  acting  in  A'drienne  Lecoiivreur,  the 
curtain  had  scarcely  fallen  after  the  last  act,  when 
the  great  tension  of  nerves  and  mind  and  body  I  had 
undergone  during  that  final  scene  of  passion  and 
delirum  brought  on  a  kind  of  nervous  attack,  and  an 
affection  of  the  brain  which  deprived  me  of  conscious- 
ness for  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Sometimes,  similar  causes  brought  on  a  fit  of  spleen 
which  quite  overpowered  me.  On  such  occasions,  I 
wandered  by  choice  in  the  cemetery  of  the  city. 
There  I  remained  for  long  periods,  reading  the  in- 
scriptions, on  the  various  gravestones,  and  I  would 
return  home  full  of  sadness,  feeling  as  though  I  had 
myself  been  one  of  the  sufferers  in  these  sad  cases. 
Thus  also  it  was  my  custom  when  I  arrived  in  a  city 
hitherto  unknown  to  me,  after  I  had  visited  the  pict- 
ure and  sculpture  galleries,  to  obtain  permission  to 
inspect  the  lunatic  asylums;  for  if  I  did  not  go  to  the 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.       1 3 

cemetery,  it  was  there  that  the  nightmare  which  for 
the  moment  possessed  me,  impelled  me  to  wander. 
Mad  girls  were  those  who  attracted  my  deepest  sym- 
pathy ;  their  sad,  tranquil  lunacy  allowed  me  to  pen- 
etrate into  their  cells  without  danger  of  any  kind, 
and  I  was  able  to  stay  long  with  them,  to  gain  their 
affection  and  confidence.  Gradually  however,  as 
years  rolled  on,  I  outgrew  these  eccentricities;  my 
nerves  began  to  acquire  the  temper  of  steel ;  I  learned 
to  confine  my  romantic  ideas  within  reasonable  limits, 
and  I  applied  myself  with  redoubled  energy  to  the 
study  of  my  art. 

In  consequence  of  the  dramatic  conditions  existing 
in  Italy,  especially  in  those  days,  it  was  not  usual 
for  engagements  to  last  longer  than  thirty  or  forty 
nights  in  one  city.  It  was  an  extremely  rare  thing 
for  them  to  last  two  months,  and  this  constant  change 
of  public  had  the  greatest  advantages. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  possess  a  very  varied 
repertoire,  and  the  public  had  not  time  to  grow  accus- 
tomed to  the  actors,  to  the  detriment  of  their  enthu- 
siasm. And  what  a  power  does  that  living  and 
continued  fascination  of  the  public  exercise  over  an 
artistically  creative  mind  !  Thus,  then,  I  had  always 
a  fresh  public  before  me,  which  I  moved  at  my  will, 
and  which,  thanks  to  the  powerful  magnetic  influence 
that  so  readily  established  itself  between  us  (and  this 
was  most  essential  in  my  case)  communicated  to  me 
that  electric  impulse  which  alone  forms  an  artist, 
and  without  which  every  study  bears  the  impress  of 
mediocrity. 

In  this  manner  my  early  youth  passed  away. 


14  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

My  love  of  study  never  diminished.  With  the 
progress  of  years,  I  went  on  completing  my  education. 
That  nature  had  called  me  to  art,  I  felt  within  me 
from  the  feverish  desire  which  impelled  me  to  see 
and  study  all  that  gradually  came  before  me  in  my 
artistic  peregrinations.  Music,  painting  and  sculpt- 
ure always  had  for  me  a  fascinating  attraction.  I 
remember  one  evening  at  Florence,  fatigued  by  con- 
tinual performances,  I  was  longing  for  a  day  of  rest, 
but  my  desire  was  not  shared  by  the  Lessee  of  the 
Cocomero,  now  the  Nicolini  Theatre,  Signor  Somigli, 
who  was  not  disposed  to  put  the  padlock  on  the 
money-box  by  interrupting  the  performances  of  the 
Pia  dei  Tolomei,  which  was  having  an  immense  run. 
But  I  had  a  right  to  one  day's  rest.  When,  behold ! 
the  cunning  lessee  called  in  to  his  aid  a  brother  of 
his  who,  recollecting  a  certain  lively  desire  of  mine 
which  might,  he  thought,  serve  as  a  bait,  came  to  me 
saying:  "Play  to-morrow  evening,  and  you  will  get 
a  very  handsome  present." 

"I  want  rest,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
your  present,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,"  he  added,  "  if  you  only  knew  !  Come,  I 
know  you  want  the  beautiful  drawing  of  the  fa9ade 
of  our  famous  San  Miniato  al  Monte,  which  you  so 
much  admired  in  my  sitting-room.  If  you  consent 
to  play  to-morrow,  you  shall  have  it." 

It  is  true  that  I  had  been  wishing  for  it  for  some 
time,  and  they,  who  were  not  ignorant  of  the  fact, 
laid  the  trap  for  me.  I  could  not  resist ;  and  so  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  lessee  had  another  full  house, 
and  that  I  played  another  full  evening  for  a  drawing  ! 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.        1 5 

This  return  which  my  memory  makes  to  a  past  em- 
bracing so  large  a  part  of  my  existence  leads  me 
back  to  that  time,  and  I  feel  once  more  the  firm  res- 
olution, which  never  failed  me  in  youth  and  woman- 
hood, to  follow  the  sacred  precepts  of  my  illustrious 
mistress,  Carlotta  Marchionni, 

Once  upon  the  stage,  not  even  for  one  moment 
did  my  consideration  for  the  public  ever  diminish. 

Whether  the  audience  was  large  or  small,  intelli- 
gent or  the  reverse,  mattered  nothing  to  me.  The 
possibility  that  it  might  contain  one  educated  and 
cultivated  person,  able  justly  to  decide  upon,  and 
appreciate  my  artistic  merit,  was  enough  to  make  me 
attend  to  the  minutest  details  of  the  part  I  was  play- 
ing. I  would  not  omit  a  single  gesture,  a  single 
idea.  The  simple,  familiar  style  of  the  French  school 
was  then  greatly  in  vogue,  and  was  so  much  preferred 
to  our  way  of  acting,  that  in  many  actors  it  became 
quite  wearisome.  Therefore,  without  entirely  forsak- 
ing my  habitual  method,  which,  thank  Heaven,  had 
not  the  above  mentioned  defect,  I  endeavored  to 
blend  the  two  styles  together,  for  I  felt  that,  if  prog- 
ress was  to  be  made  in  everything,  even  the  drama 
must  undergo  certain  changes.  This  sentiment  did 
not,  however,  make  me  a  servile  imitator.  Neither 
in  drama  nor  in  tragedy  was  I  ever  lacking  in  that 
Italian  fire  which  is  inherent  among  us,  for  it  is  our 
nature  to  experience  passion  in  all  its  intensity,  and 
not  to  be  circumscribed  in  our  expression  of  it  by 
any  academic  rules.  Indeed,  if  the  impetus  of  pas- 
sion is  taken  away  from  an  Italian  "  artist '' — the 
true  coloring  in  fact — he  sinks  at  once  into  a  weak 
and  insufferable  actor. 


l6  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

For  my  part.  I  always  endeavored  to  act  in  as 
natural  a  manner  as  possible.  The  public  highly 
approved  my  careful  study,  as  well  as  the  efforts  I 
made  to  render  myself  really  worthy  of  their  favor. 
In  short,  my  countrymen  were  profuse  to  the  utmost 
of  their  power  in  their  demonstrations  of  affection 
and  approval.  Their  appreciation  penetrated  to  my 
inmost  heart.  It  was  delicious  to  me  to  be  thus 
understood ;  to  feel  that  I  could  move  human  souls 
at  my  will,  and  excite  their  gentlest  as  well  as  their 
strongest  passion. 

I  hope  the  reader  will  pardon  me  such  language, 
remembering  that  the  actor  lives  upon  the  fame  won 
by  much  severe  study  and  hard  conflict;  and  how 
the  mere  consciousness  of  having  attained  the  desired 
goal  is  sufficient  in  itself  to  re-light  the  fires  of  early 
enthusiasm. 

When,  at  the  age  of  eighteen  years,  I  for  the  first 
time  acted  the  part  of  Mary  Stuart,  in  Schiller's  play, 
how  much  did  that  great,  profound  and  most  difficult 
study  cost  me ;  how  hard  and  thorny  was  the  road  I 
had  to  traverse  to  obtain  the  object  of  my  desires ! 
The  reader  will  be  surprised  when  he  peruses  my 
analytical  account  of  that  part,  to  find  the  circum- 
stances which  attended  my  assumption  of  it. 

The  time  came  when  my  art  no  longer  sufficed  to 
satisfy  the  desires  of  my  soul.  The  passion  I  always 
had  for  children  was  not  only  innate  in  me,  but  was 
developed  in  an  extraordinary  degree  ;  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  in  them  was  to  be  found  the  realization  of 
true  felicity  on  earth.  Maternal  instinct  was  even 
so  strong  in  me  that  I  revolted  from  playing  the 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.       1 7 

parts  in  which  it  was  overlooked.  I  shall  have  occa- 
sion, in  regard  to  this,  to  relate  how  I  had  always 
refused  to  play  Medea  in  the  various  tragedies  she 
had  inspired,  and  in  consequence  of  what  circum- 
stances I  at  last  consented  to  undertake  Legouve's 
magnificent  Medea,  because  in  this  last  tragedy  the 
mother's  crime  is  caused  by  her  maternal  affection 
itself. 

For  all  that,  I  considered  the  duties  of  marriage 
incompatible  with  my  art ;  but  Fate  had  in  store  for 
me  a  partner  of  congenial  spirit,  who  shared  my  wor- 
ship for  the  fine  arts,  and  who,  far  from  repressing 
my  ardor,  urged  and  stimulated  me  to  pursue  my 
way  with  increased  energy. 

After  a  series  of  strange  and  romantic  incidents, 
which  have  been  narrated  by  many  of  my  biographers, 
I  was  united  in  marriage  to  the  Marchese  Giuliano 
Capranica  Del  Grillo.  Many  painful  circumstances 
obliged  us  to  be  frequently  separated  during  the 
earlier  years  of  our  wedded  life, 

I  had  the  inexpressible  happiness  of  becoming  the 
mother  of  four  children,  two  of  whom  were  cruelly 
torn  from  us  by  an  early  death.  We  were  almost 
insane  with  grief;  but  the  two  surviving  children, 
Giorgio  and  Bianca,  were  destined  to  fill  the  void 
left  in  our  hearts  by  the  loss  of  their  poor  brothers. 
We  never  separated  from  them.  We  kept  them 
always  with  us,  and  they  were  the  source  to  us  of 
great  happiness. 

By  degrees  I  began  to  perceive  that  the  sweet 
influences  of  maternal  affection  gained  such  hold 
upon  me  that  imperceptibly  my  enthusiasm  for  art 
2 


l8  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

diminished  gradually  in  intensity,  and  its  sway  over 
me  became  less  powerful. 

This  abnormal  state  of  mind,  joined  to  certain 
secondary  causes,  decided  me  to  retire  from  the 
stage  as  soon  as  my  three  years  contract  with  the 
Royal  Sardinian  Company  had  expired.  Chief  among 
these  reasons  was  the  fact  that,  although  the  repertoire 
of  the  Company  was  most  varied,  well  chosen  and 
rich  in  the  productions  of  our  best  and  most  cele- 
brated authors,  such  as  Alfieri,  Goldoni,  Niccolini, 
Monti,  Pellico,  Carlo  Marenco,  Nota,  Giacometti, 
Ferrari,  Gherardi  del  Testa,  Leopoldo  Marenco,  son 
of  the  renowned  author  of  Pia  dei  Tolemei,  Fonti, 
Castelvecchio  and  many  others  all  worthy  of  notice, 
yet  it  was  impossible  to  fight  against  the  growing 
rivalry  of  the  lyric  stage.  The  muse  of  melody 
seemed  alone  in  favor  with  the  public. 

In  order  to  provide  for  the  expenses  of  the  Opera, 
the  managers,  or  directors,  or  theatrical  academies 
spent  enormous  sums,  and  the  prices  of  admission 
were,  of  course,  in  proportion.  A  great  performance 
was  an  event.  Everything  was  sacrificed  to  it,  and 
it  was  necessary  to  make  herculean  efforts  to  prevent 
poor  dramatic  art  from  being  left  altogether  in  the 
background. 

During  the  early  years  of  my  career,  the  prefer- 
ence of  the  public  for  the  works  of  French  writers, 
which  were  at  the  height  of  fashion  then,  was  such 
that,  in  order  to  be  certain  of  a  full  audience  for 
several  consecutive  evenings,  it  was  enough  to  an- 
nounce a  play  of  Scribe,  Legouve,  Melsville,  Dumas, 
&c.  in  the  bills.     It  was  not  that  the  productions  of 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.       1 9 

our  native  genius  had  no  chance  of  finding  favor 
with  the  public,  who  appreciated  their  literary  merit, 
the  spontaneity  of  the  dialogue,  and  the  purity  of  the 
language.  But,  with  very  few  exceptions,  all  the 
applause  was  reserved  for  French  pieces. 

Besides,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  censor- 
ship then  exercised  in  Austria  and  the  Papal  States 
had  a  great  share  in  the  decay  of  our  native  produc- 
tions. Thus  patriotic  subjects  were  absolutely  for- 
bidden. Morality  was  expressed  in  the  most  fantastic 
way.  In  consequence  our  native  dramas  were  re- 
duced to  a  mass  of  absurdities  when  they  escaped 
being  utterly  silly  and  without  any  interest  whatever. 

I  will  give  a  few  examples  of  the  absurd  changes 
made  by  the  ecclesiastical  censorship  in  these  years. 

It  was  forbidden  to  an  actor  to  utter  the  name  of 
God^  or  to  use  the  word  Angel  or  Devil.  Actors 
were  forbidden  to  take  on  the  stage  the  names  of 
Gregory  while  Gregory  XVI.  was  Pontiff,  and  of 
John  and  Pius  during  the  pontificate  of  John  Mas- 
tai,  Pius  IX.  The  word  "fatherland"  (patria)  was 
likewise  prohibited  as  a  blasphemy  I 

One  day  a  certain  play  was  submitted  to  the  Cen- 
sor, in  which  the  principal  character,  who  was  dumb, 
returned  to  his  native  land  after  a  long  exile.  The 
book  of  the  piece  contained  certain  directions  which 
were  to  be  reproduced  in  dumb  show.  Among  them 
was  the  following  :  "  Here  the  actor  must  convey  to 
his  audience  the  joy  he  feels  in  once  more  seeing 
his  own  country."  Well,  actually,  the  word  patria 
(fatherland)  was  erased  by  the  Censor,   and  paese 


20  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

(countr}')  substituted,  as  though  the  change  of  words 
could  be  indicated  to  the  public  by  gestures  ! 

On  another  occasion,  wlien  Macbeth  was  given  at 
Rome,  and  one  of  the  three  witches  says  in  the 
second  scene  of  the  first  act : 

"Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wrecked  as  homeward  he  did  come," 

the  Censor  cancelled  the  lines. 

"Why?  "  asked  the  manager  of  the  company. 

*'  Because,"  was  the  answer,  "  the  public  will  prob- 
ably find  an  allusion  in  them  to  the  vessel  of  St.  Peter 
which  is  in  danger  of  being  submerged  by  the  wick- 
edness of  the  times." 

What  can  be  said  in  defence  of  such  absurdities  ? 

Nor  did  the  operas  fare  any  better  than  the  plays. 

In  Verdi's  Liiisa  Miller  the  following  words  occur 

in  the  tenor's  beautiful  song : 

"Ed  ella  in  suono  angelico 
Amo  te,  sol,  dicea." 

Unfortunately  the  expression  suono  angelico  (angelic 
note)  offended  the  Censor's  delicate  sensibility,  and 
he  substituted  suono  armonico  (harmonious  note). 
This  so  excited  the  hilarity  of  the  public,  that  a  wit 
amused  himself  by  writing  under  the  name  of  the 
Via  di  Porta  Angelica — a  street  near  St.  Peter's — 
the  words.  Via  di  Porta  Armonica. 

When  Bellini's  Norma  was  to  be  given  in  Rome, 
the  Censor  would  only  allow  it  with  the  following 
stipulations :  First,  that  the  opera  was  to  be  called 
77/1?  Forest  of  Irminsul,  to  avoid  using  the  word 
"Norma" — literally  "guide"  in  Italian — which  con- 
stantly  occurs    in   books    of   devotion ;    then,    that 


CHILDHOOD  AND  DEBUT  IN  ITALY.       21 

Norma's  sons  were  to  become  her  brothers ;  further, 
that  she  was  condemned  to  death  for  having  shown 
favor  to  the  enemy ;  and  that  in  the  famous  finale, 
where  she  is  about  to  mount  the  funeral  pyre,  instead 
of  committing  her  children  to  the  care  of  her  father 
Oroveso,  it  is  he  whom  she  must  recommend  to  the 
Druids. 

In  Verona  the  memory  is  still  green  of  that  Vero- 
nese, and  imperial  Censor,  who,  in  a  piece  of  poetry 
which  was  to  be  recited,  changed  the  words  "  Beau- 
tiful sky  of  Italy"  into  "Beautiful  sky  of  Lombardy 
Venetia !  "  Can  anything  exceed  this  ?  How  could 
the  Italian  stage  prosper  amidst  such  a  state  of 
things  ?  How  could  it  move  the  public  to  enthusi- 
asm ?  And,  wanting  prosperity  and  enthusiasm,  it 
was  a  body  without  a  soul. 

I  felt,  as  it  were,  paralyzed  under  the  insupportable 
yoke  which  restrained  my  movements  and  suppressed 
half  the  words.  And  it  was  not  enough  to  know  that 
the  public  had  for  me  a  sincere  and  unalterable  affec- 
tion, a  constant  and  lively  sympathy.  I  was  by  this 
time  accustomed  to  identify  myself  with  the  person- 
age I  represented,  to  live  for  those  few  hours  the 
artistic  life  of  the  work  by  me  interpreted,  and  when 
this  was  either  misunderstood  or  ruthlessly  mutilated, 
no  longer  raised  up  the  same  enthusiasm,  nor  drew 
forth  those  electric  currents  which  thrill  and  carry 
away  the  artist.  I  felt  myself  falling  from  the  sub- 
lime height  of  my  aspirations.  The  applause  lavished 
on  me  personally  seemed  cold,  and  left  in  my  heart  a 
kind  of  encroaching  sadness. 

Thus  it  was  that  at  Turin,  at  the  epoch  above  men- 


22  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

tioned,  in  1855,  I  suddenly  made  up  my  mind  to  re- 
tire from  the  stage.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  in  the 
quiet  of  domestic  life,  I  should  realize  my  most 
golden  dreams. 

But  these  discouragements,  these  projects,  were  of 
short  duration.  That  the  sacred  fire  was  not  totally 
extinguished  within  me  was  proved  by  my  after  jour- 
neys round  the  world. 

But,  at  the  same  time,  one  idea  incessantly  occu- 
pied my  mind.  This  was  to  vindicate,  before  leaving 
the  stage,  the  artistic  worth  of  my  country  in  foreign 
lands,  to  show  that,  in  spite  of  all,  Italy  was  not  the 
land  of  the  dead.  But  how  was  I  to  do  this?  All 
of  a  sudden  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  France. 


CHAPTER  II. 

FIRST  JOURNEY   TO   FRANCE. 

I  WAS  aware  that  an  Italian  Company,  directed  by 
the  well-known  actors  Carolina  Internari  and  Luigi 
Taddei,  had  been  in  Paris  in  1830,  and  that  their 
experiences  were  anything  but  encouraging.  But  the 
speculation  was  rendered  so  unfortunate  by  many 
exceptional  circumstances!  The  revolution  of  July 
had  ruined  them.  Their  patroness,  the  Duchess  de 
Berry,  had  had  to  fly  with  Charles  X.  and  the  poor 
Italian  players  had  been  reduced  to  such  straits  that 
a  benefit  performance  had  to  be  given  to  raise  the 
funds  for  their  return  journey. 

But  in  1855  circumstances  looked  much  more 
propitious.  France  was  in  a  flourishing  condition ; 
the  great  Exhibition  had  attracted  many  strangers  to 
Paris.  It  was  a  well-known  thing  that  the  Italian 
emigrants,  the  greater  part  of  whom  did  honor  to  our 
country,  had  met  with  the  warmest  of  welcomes  in 
France.  The  Venetians  gathered  round  Manin  as 
round  the  banner  of  their  future  redeemer,  were  a 
subject  of  constant  admiration.  And  not  less  an 
object  of  interest  were  all  the  other  Italian  exiles. 
Everything  seemed  to  promise  success  to  my  attempt. 

I  spoke  about  it  to  my  husband,  who  approved 
of  it.  We  thought  that  the  Royal  Sardinian  Theatri- 
cal Company  would  worthily  uphold  the  dignity  of 
Italian  art.  23 


24  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

The  chief  members  of  the  company  at  that  time 
were  the  now  famous  Ernesto  Rossi,  Gaetano  Gat- 
tinelli,  Bellotti  Bon,  Mesdames  Cuttini,  Mancini,  and 
Righetti,  Boccomini,  Gleck,  and  many  others.  It 
was  far  from  my  desire  to  attempt  to  vie  with  the 
French  actors,  who  have  no  rivals  in  the  perfection 
of  their  acting  in  Comedy,  but  I  was  anxious  to  show 
those  people  who  cried  up  the  merits  of  French 
players  to  the  detriment  of  those  of  our  nation,  that, 
in  a  certain  measure,  we  could  compete  with  the 
French  on  the  Field  of  Comedy,  and  equal  them,  at 
least,  in  Drama  and  Tragedy;  that  in  Italy  we  still 
knew  what  was  true  art,  and  could  express  it  in  a 
worthy  and  dignified  manner, 

I  expounded  these  views  to  my  eminent  and  inti- 
mate friend,  the  Commendatore  Alessandro  Malvano, 
on  whose  clear  intelligence  and  judgment  I  felt  I 
could  rely.  He  thought  my  project  excellent.  En- 
couraged by  his  approval,  I  went  at  once  to  Righetti, 
our  manager.  He  was  thunderstruck  when  he  heard 
me,  called  my  ideas  chimerical,  and  ended  by  oppos- 
ing the  realization  of  my  plan  in  every  point.  He 
set  himself  to  enumerate  all  the  risks  to  be  encount- 
ered, the  most  possible  losses,  and  probable  want  of 
artistic  success.  But  here  Malvano  interfered,  declar- 
ing himself  to  be  so  firmly  persuaded  of  the  good 
result  of  the  affair,  that  he  was  willing  to  assume  the 
entire  responsibility. 

"  The  loss  shall  be  mine ;  the  gain  yours,"  he 
concluded.  These  words  of  Malvano  made  our  Man- 
ager a  little  more  favorably  disposed  towards  my 
proposal.     I  then  suggested  to  him  that,  as  I  wanted 


FIRST  fOURNEY  TO  FRANCE.  2$ 

to  have  a  share  in  the  profits  (in  case  there  should 
be  any),  besides  my  regular  salary,  I  was  also  pre- 
pared, in  case  of  loss,  to  share  it  with  him.  At  last 
I  succeeded  to  persuade  him,  and  the  matter  was 
finally  arranged. 

The  necessary  negotiations  were  concluded;  our 
departure  was  fixed  for  the  ist  of  May,  1855,  while 
the  22d  of  May  was  named  as  the  date  of  our  first 
appearance,  and  the  repertoire  was  chosen. 

Our  chief  care  was  to  select  such  pieces  as  should 
allow  no  room  for  comparison  with  the  French  actors  ; 
for  we  knew  that  Tragedy  was  the  field  in  which  we 
could  best  measure  ourselves  with  them,  and  in 
Italian  dramas  we  feared  no  rivals. 

So  we  chose  for  the  first  evening  Silvio  Pellico's 
tragedy  of  Francesca  da  Rimini,  and  a  one-act  comedy 
by  the  Roman  author  Giraud,  called  the  Gelosi  fortu- 
nati.  In  this  latter  piece,  I  took  the  part  of  a  young 
wife  very  much  in  love  with,  and  extremely  jealous 
of,  her  husband.  It  seemed  to  us  that  this  transition 
from  Tragedy  to  Comedy  ought  to  make  an  impression 
upon  the  French  public. 

Before  setting  out  on  my  journey  I  provided  myself 
with  several  introductory  letters ;  among  the  rest, 
with  some  for  the  famous  critic,  Jules  Janin,  and  our 
lamented  Pierangelo  Fiorentino,  who  afterwards  so 
greatly  assisted  our  interests.  We  left  Italy  with 
hearts  full  of  hope.  Our  journey  was  pleasant  and 
successful.  We  traversed  the  superb  and  picturesque 
road  for  the  first  time,  and  our  admiration  was 
excited  by  its  grand  Alpine  scenery. 

A  small  party  of  friends  accompanied  us  on  our 


26  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

journey,  whose  enthusiasm  for  the  dramatic  art,  and 
hereditary  ties  of  friendship  with  the  Royal  Sardinian 
Theatrical  Company  had  induced  them  to  share  our 
doubts  and  fears,  and  be  witnesses  of  the  triumph 
they  hoped  was  in  store  for  us  at  Paris.  They 
undertook  this  journey  with  the  greatest  delight. 

We  reached  Paris  towards  evening,  and  I  found 
my  apartment  ready  prepared  for  me.  It  was  on 
the  second  floor  of  No.  36  Rue  Richelieu,  near  the 
fountain  to  Moliere. 

Every  time  since  that  I  have  passed  before  this 
house,  the  sight  of  it  has  awakened  the  tenderest 
recollections  within  me. 

The  members  of  the  company  found  quarters  in 
two  modest  hotels  situated  near  the  Italian  Theatre. 
My  husband  and  I  and  our  friends  lost  no  time  in 
turning  out  to  see  the  much-talked-of  Boulevards. 

We  sat  outside  the  Cafe  Veron.  I  cannot  express 
the  mingled  impression  of  wonder  and  terror  which 
overcame  me  in  the  midst  of  this  crowd,  where  not  a 
single  word  of  my  native  language  reached  my  ear. 
I  seemed  to  understand  for  the  first  time  the  boldness 
of  my  enterprise.  The  idea  of  having  hoped,  even 
for  a  single  moment,  that  I,  a  stranger,  should  be 
appreciated  by  this  public,  unacquainted  with  the 
reputation  which  I  might  have  gained  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Alps,  appeared  to  me  decidedly  absurd. 
My  imagination  began  to  work ;  an  unspeakable 
discouragement  took  possession  of  me,  and  I  went 
home  a  prey  to  profound  sadness. 

We  returned  home  without  speaking  a  single  word. 
I  dared  not  hint  at  the  doubts  which  oppressed  me, 


FIRST  JOURNEY  TO  FRANCE,  27 

either  to  my  husband  or  friends,  and,  as  it  may  be 
easily  imagined,  I  passed  a  most  restless  and  agitated 
night.  During  the  following  days,  however,  the  more 
material  occupations  of  preparing  for  our  first  per- 
formance somewhat  distracted  my  mind,  and  the 
assurances  of  friends  who  had  been  living  for  some 
time  as  exiles  in  Paris,  further  encouraged  me.  Alas ! 
the  greater  number  of  these  will  never  read  my  Me- 
moirs. Manin,  Montanelli,  Musolino,  Carini,  then 
Director  of  the  Revue  Franco- Italienne,  later  on,  a 
general  in  our  army — Dall'  Ongaro,  Ballanti,  Pieran- 
gelo  Fiorentino,  Dr.  Maestri,  Federici,  Toifoli,  emi- 
nent colleague  of  Tommaseo,  Sirtori,  are  no  more ! 
The  reader  must  allow  me  to  lay  on  their  graves  the 
wreath  of  friendship.  We  were  very  anxious,  in 
common  with  our  young  friends  from  Turin,  to  be 
present  at  some  French  theatrical  performance. 
Above  all,  we  desired  to  see  the  great  tragedian, 
Rachel,  who  had  filled  the  world  with  her  fame. 

To  our  great  disappointment,  we  were  told  that  she 
was  not  acting  in  Paris  just  then,  having  taken  her 
formal  farewell  previous  to  repairing  to  the  United 
States,  and  that  the  public  were  very  angry  with  her 
on  this  account. 

Not  being  able,  therefore,  to  see  Rachel,  the  chief 
object  of  our  curiosity,  we  limited  our  desires  to 
attending  a  play  at  the  Comedie  Fran9aise  so  highly 
renowned  for  the  perfection  of  its  acting  and  its 
mise-en-scene,  considered  the  first  in  Europe. 

We  had  no  time  to  lose.  Our  representations 
were  to  begin  on  the  22d,  and  it  was  already  the 
17th.     Seeing  announced   in   the   bills,    that   Mile. 


28  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

Augustine  Brohan,  especially  known  for  her  talent 
and  vivacity  in  comedy,  was  to  play  that  very  evening 
in  one  of  our  favorite  pieces,  Le  Caprice,  by  Alfred 
Musset,  we  were  all  most  anxious  to  go  and  hear  her. 

Being  quite  taken  up  with  our  own  approaching 
performance,  we  had  not  given  a  thought  as  to  the 
probable  necessity  of  taking  tickets  beforehand,  and 
presented  ourselves  at  the  ticket  office  only  a  little 
before  the  beginning  of  the  play. 

"A  box,  if  you  please,"  demanded  one  of  our 
party. 

"A  box?"  answered  the  office-keeper;  for  what 
day?" 

"For  this  evening." 

"  For  this  evening ! "  replied  the  astonished  official ; 
"you  should  have  thought  about  it  long  ago ! "  But 
apparently  our  evident  disappointment  awakened  his 
compassion,  for  he  generously  offered  us  tickets  for 
the  gallery. 

My  husband  hesitated.  Our  young  friends,  with 
their  habitual  good  humor,  were  quite  ready  to 
accept.  For  my  part,  I  was  not  much  flattered  at 
the  idea  of  such  an  entry  into  the  house  of  Moliere, 
but  we  had  no  choice.  We  deliberated  a  moment, 
and  then  ascended  laughingly  the  five  flights  to  install 
ourselves  triumphantly  among  the  gods  ! 

From  our  exalted  situation  we  could  applaud  freely 
and  enthusiastically.  The  exquisite  acting  of  Mile. 
Augustine  Brohan  gave  us  all  great  pleasure,  and  I 
never  forgot  it. 

Before  commencing  my  performances,  I  delivered 
my  letter  of  introduction  to  M.  Jules  Janin,  and  as 


FIRST  JOURNEY   TO   FRANCE.  29 

he  was  a  great  friend  of  Rachel's  I  ventured  to  ask 
him  a  favor  I  ardently  desired,  namely,  to  make  me 
personally  known  to  such  a  celebrity,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  as  a  sister  in  her  art,  to  ask  her  support 
in  my  difficult  experiment. 

Rachel  was  at  her  country  house.  I  determined 
to  write  to  her,  but  was  dissuaded  by  M.  Janin  and 
others,  who  assured  me  that  she  was  daily  expected 
back  in  the  city  ;  that  they  would  invite  me  to  meet 
her,  and  thus  I  should  have  every  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  her. 

I  took  their  advice,  but  my  impatience  to  be 
acquainted  with  her  was  such  that  I  did  not  cease  to 
importune  M.  Janin  to  allow  me  to  write  to  her. 
And  they  succeeded  also  in  dissuading  me  from  this 
intention.  Given,  the  nervous,  impressionable  tem- 
per of  Mile.  Rachel,  such  a  step  on  my  part  would 
effect  a  result  diametrically  opposite  to  that  purposed 
by  me.  To  write  without  the  previous  formality  of  a 
presentation,  would  be  almost  to  treat  as  an  equal 
one  who  justly  believed  herself  to  hold  an  excep- 
tional and  privileged  position.  It  might  appear  like 
a  forcing  of  her  will,  or  as  giving  her  a  lesson  of 
courtesy  in  doing  that  which  the  laws  of  hospitality 
ought  to  have  suggested  to  her  as  the  mistress  of 
the  house  towards  a  stranger  who  was  crossing  her 
threshold.  I  yielded  to  these  arguments,  although 
they  appeared  to  me  too  subtle  and  far-fetched. 
But  I  had  good  reason  afterwards  to  repent  of  my 
pliability.  I  was  cruelly  punished  for  consenting  for 
the  first  time  not  to  act  according  to  my  own  instinct. 

On  the  appointed  evening  the  series  of  our  repre- 


30  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

sentations  began  with  the  play  already  decided  upon. 
The  impression  produced  on  the  French  public  was 
very  satisfactory  for  our  amour  propre.  The  press 
was  entirely  favorable,  and  we  had  the  approbation 
of  the  greater  number  of  the  most  renowned  critics. 
The  famous  scene  in  the  third  act,  in  which  Paolo 
and  Francesca  each  in  turn  reveal  their  love,  excited 
much  applause,  and  her  death,  although  lacking  in 
remarkable  effects  or  great  difficulties,  inspired  Alex- 
andre Dumas  with  an  article  most  flattering  to  me. 

The  impartial  critics  of  journalism,  prominent 
among  whom  were  Alexandre  Dumas — afterwards 
my  great  friend — Theophile  Gautier,  Pierangelo  Fior- 
entino,  Jules  Janin,  Jules  de  Premoray,  Paul  de  St. 
Victor.  Leon  Gozlan,  Mery,  Theodore  Anne,  and 
many  others,  also  gave  us  kindly  notice.  Some  few 
who  were  devoted  to  Rachel,  timidly  and  half  inau- 
dibly  granted  me  some  aptitude  for  acting  tragedy, 
and  in  particular  those  very  special  dispositions 
which  the  great  French  actress  possessed  in  a  lesser 
degree,  and  of  which  she  made  less  account — for 
example,  the  faculty  of  touching  the  tender  and  com- 
passionate feelings.  But  they  absolutely  denied  in 
me  the  force,  the  energy,  the  vigor  necessary  for 
interpreting  successfully  the  violent  passions  proper 
to  the  tragic  poem,  in  fact,  those  qualities  which  had 
most  largely  contributed  to  the  triumph  of  Rachel 
and  to  her  fame  ;  they  denied  me  that  too  classic 
elasticity  of  movement  and  posture,  that  "step  of 
a  goddess,"  which  the  great  actress  possessed  in  a 
supreme  degree  when  she  crossed  the  stage  draped 
in  peplum. 


FIRST  JOURNEY  TO   FRANCE.  3 1 

I  might  have  bowed  my  head  to  this  judgment, 
and  beheved  that  nature  and  study  had  refused  me 
those  very  gifts  for  which  the  indulgence  and  affec- 
tion of  my  countrymen  had  most  frequently  lavished 
applause  and  praise  upon  me.  But  the  sentence 
thus  hastily  pronounced  appeared  to  me  questionable. 
To  speak  of  energy,  force,  violence,  in  relation  to  the 
gentle,  pathetic  character  of  Francesca  da  Rimini 
was  an  absurdity  which  revealed  the  deliberate  pur- 
pose of  making  naughty  comparisons  at  whatsoever 
cost ;  and  to  make  them  unhesitatingly  without  giving 
time  for  consideration  or  comparison,  or  for  the  pub- 
lic to  manifest  freely  their  own  opinion.  Thus,  if  I 
had  been  self-conceited,  that  condemnation  would 
have  served  rather  to  awaken  my  pride  than  to  arouse 
in  me  the  honest  sentiment  of  diffidence. 

But  pride  was  not,  in  truth,  my  besetting  sin,  and 
this  early  opposition  alarmed  me  at  least  in  so  far  as 
I  perceived  how  ill  my  real  intentions  in  appearing 
upon  the  Parisian  stage  were  interpreted  by  some. 

"  I  never  had  the  presumption,"  I  said  to  my  most 
intimate  friends  and  most  severe  critics,  "  to  come  to 
Paris  to  compete  with  your  sublime  artist.  My  aim 
is  a  more  modest  one  \  and,  permit  me  to  add,  a  more 
generous  one."  I  wish  to  show  that  in  Italy  also 
the  dramatic  art,  once  our  boast  and  our  glory,  still 
exists,  and  is  cultivated  with  affection  and  passion. 
As  for  me,  personally,  let  them  criticise  me  with  the 
utmost  severity  ;  but  before  pronouncing  judgment 
upon  me  let  them  wait  at  least  until  I  have  given 
proof,  in  all  the  various  parts  of  my  repertory,  of  the 
full  measure  of  my  powers.     And  if  they  persist — as 


32  ■  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

they  have  a  right  to  do — in  making  comparisons  I  do 
not  desire,  but  which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  avoid, 
let  them  show  their  impartiahty  and  clearness 'of 
judgment  by  delaying  their  sentence  until  they  have 
seen  me  in  some  part  which  may  give  them  reasonable 
ground  for  such  a  verdict. 

Thus,  for  example,  Myrrha  may  be  compared  with 
Phcedra  (a  minute  comparison  of  them  is  given  in  two 
of  the  chief  analytical  studies  in  these  pages). 

Our  third  performance  on  the  26th  of  May  included 
the  Curioso  Accidaite  and  La  Locandiera,  by  Goldoni. 
These  plays  were  well  received,  though  comedy  in  a 
foreign  language  is  most  difBcult  to  understand. 

It  was  then  proposed  to  give  the  Myrrha  of  Alfieri, 
without,  however  (from  want  of  sufficient  time),  those 
special  announcements  that  generally  excite  the  curi- 
osity of  the  public  in  all  countries  ;  yet  the  theatre 
was  more  crowded  than  on  the  preceding  evening, 
and  the  entire  press  assisted  at  the  representation. 
This  tragedy,  written  in  pure  and  severe  Italian  style, 
and  with  many  distinctly  Greek  forms,  gave  me  an 
opportunity  of  showing  my  artistic  feeling,  the  pro- 
found psychological  study  I  had  bestowed  on  the  part, 
and  the  ability  of  our  Italian  school  to  unite  national 
spontaneity  to  Greek  plasticity,  detaching  itself  en- 
tirely from  academical  conventionalisms,  not  because 
academical  conventionalisms  are  devoid  of  anything 
praiseworthy,  but  because  we  argue  that  in  the  whirl 
and  fury  of  the  passions,  it  is  not  possible  to  give  full 
attention  to  the  greater  or  lesser  elevation  of  the  arms 
or  hands.  Provided  the  gestures  are  noble  and  not 
discordant  with  the  sentiments  expressed^  the  actor 


FIRST  JOURNEY  TO  FRANCE.  33 

must  be  left  to  his  own  impulse.  Constraint  and 
conventionalism,  in  my  opinion,  obscure  the  truth. 

One  of  the  living  examples  of  this  realistic  school, 
and  one  also  of  its  brightest  ornaments,  is  my  illus- 
trious companion  in  art,  Tommaso  Salvini,  with 
whom  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  share  the  labors  of 
the  stage  for  several  years,  as  I  also  shared  them 
with  Ernesto  Rossi.  Salvini  was,  and  is,  justly 
admired  ;  for  his  rare  dramatic  qualities  have  nothing 
conventional  about  them,  but  are  characterized  by 
that  spontaneity  which  is  the  truest  and  most  con- 
vincing revelation  of  art. 

The  richness  of  pose,  of  which  Salvini  makes  use, 
is  in  him  a  natural  gift,  brought  to  perfection  by  his 
close  study  of  nature  which  the  teachings  of  no  school 
could  have  produced  or  fostered  in  him.  ,In  a  word 
Tommaso  Salvini  is  to  me  the  living  incarnation  of 
Italian  inspiration. 

But  to  return  to  Myrrha.  I  must  say  that  the 
success  of  this  tragedy  surpassed  all  our  expectations. 
After  the  fourth  act — a  most  majestic  conception  of 
the  great  author's — the  audience  seemed  almost  be- 
side itself  with  delight. 

The  Foyer  was  crowded  with  the  most  distinguished 
persons  in  literature  and  art.  Alexandre  Dumas 
kissed  my  mantle  and  my  hands  ;  Janin,  Legouvd, 
Henri  Martin,  Scribe,  Theophile  Gautier,  and  many 
dramatic  artists  (I  do  not  speak  of  the  enthusiasm 
of  my  compatriots,  because  it  was  indescribable) 
could  not  find  words  to  express  their  emotion.  Dur- 
ing the  fifth  act,  where  the  great  scene  occurs  between 
Myrrha  and  her  father,  which  Ernesto  Rossi  gave 
3 


34  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

with  a  talent  that  was  unique  rather  than  rare,  the 
public  never  ceased  to  applaud.  The  success  of  this 
tragedy  at  Paris  more  than  compensated  me  for  the 
immense  trouble  which  the  interpretation  of  such  a 
ver}'^  difficult  character  did  cost  me  in  order  to  suc- 
ceed in  representing  it  suitably.  From  the  analysis 
of  this  play,  given  in  the  second  part  of  this  volume, 
the  reader  will  be  able  to  judge  how  difficult  and 
intricate  had  been  my  task. 

That  evening,  those  who  had  not  shown  themselves 
very  favorably  to  us  after  hearing  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
were  constrained  to  share  in  the  common  approval. 
In  order  to  afford  an  opportunity  to  the  other  clever 
members  of  the  company  to  display  their  powers,  it 
was  necessary  to  bring  forward  pieces  more  espec- 
ially suited  to  them.  So,  on  the  31st  of  May,  the 
Biirbero  Benefico,  by  Goldoni,  was  played,  followed 
by  the  Niejite  di  Male,  by  F.  A.  Bon.  On  the  2nd  of 
June,  La  Siwnatrice  d'Arpa,  by  David  Chiossoni,  and 
Mio  Ciigino,  by  Angelo  Brofferio,  were  given. 

On  the  day  when  the  Burbero  Benefico  was  per- 
formed I  learnt,  to  my  surprise,  that  Rachel  had  not 
only  returned  from  the  country,  but  had  bespoken  a 
box  for  that  evening  at  the  theatre.  I  was  extremely 
annoyed  at  this.  If,  after  all  the  noise  aroused  by 
the  papers,  it  was  the  intention  of  the  great  French 
actress  to  come  and  judge  for  herself,  she  had  made 
a  bad  selection  of  the  piece  which  was  to  furnish  her 
with  the  elements  for  estimating  me. 

The  Burbero  Benefico  is  certainly  one  of  Goldoni 's 
best  comedies,  but  in  it  the  part  of  the  first  actress  is 
absolutely  sacrificed  and  left  in  the  shade  in  order  to 


FIRST  JOURNEY   TO   FRANCE.  35 

throw  into  fuller  relief  the  very  original  personality 
of  the  principal  character.  I  could  not  in  the  Bur- 
bero  Bejie/ico,  display  my  artistic  qualities,  such  as 
they  were,  nor  put  forth  to  the  full  extent  my  drama- 
tic powers  in  representing  the  creation  of  a  great 
poet,  with  the  needful  amount  of  truth  and  dignity 
due  to  an  historical  personage.  Rachel's  resolve  again 
placed  me  in  another  dilemma.  She  having,  un- 
known to  me,  and  without  even  mentioning  it  to  our 
mutual  friends,  sent  to  take  a  box  at  our  theatre, 
plainly  showed  her  determination  to  keep  aloof  from 
me,  and  almost  to  remain  mcognito.  Could  I — ought 
I  to  come  forward  and  present  myself  to  her  ;  offer 
her  a  box,  and  thus,  not  only  prevent  her  from  effect- 
ing her  design,  but  further,  in  a  certain  way,  have  the 
air  of  depriving  her  of  her  full  liberty  of  judging  me 
in  her  own  fashion  ? 

It  was,  at  the  same  time,  a  question  of  delicacy 
and  propriety  mingled  with  a  question  of  artistic 
amour  propre.  If  I  was  to  have  invited  Rachel  to 
one  of  my  performances,  I  should  frankly  have  pre- 
ferred for  her  to  judge  me  in  Myrrha,  Francesca  da 
Rimini,  or  Mary  Stuart ;  but  I  did  not  wish  either 
to  appear  proud  in  abstaining  from  entering  into 
relations  with  her,  or  importunate  in  meeting  her 
half  way  and  forcing  her  to  be  civil  to  me  while  she 
seemed  rather  to  avoid  me,  or  at  least  first  form  her 
opinion  of  me  as  actress  before  receiving  me  as  a 
guest. 

I  spoke  of  it  to  the  Janins,  who^  not  knowing  any- 
thing precisely,  dissuaded  me  from  making  any  move, 
advising  me  rather  to  wait  for  the  opportunity  of  a 


36  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

repetition  of  Myrrha  to  send  Rachel  a  box  with  a 
card  of  invitation  from  me.  Meantime  they  offered 
to  plan  a  meeting  between  us  at  their  house  on  the 
excuse  of  a  dinner. 

But  this  meeting  never  took  place  ;  whether  the 
Janins  forgot  to  arrange  the  dinner,  or — as  it  seems 
to  me  more  likely — Rachel  declined  to  accept  the 
invitation,  I  never  heard  more  of  it. 

Meanwhile,  we  were  not  too  well  satisfied  with  the 
pecuniary  result  of  our  speculation,  and  Signor 
Righetti,  my  manager,  did  not  spare  me  his  lamenta- 
tions and  reproaches,  and  roundly  asserted  that  I 
should  be  responsible  for  his  forthcoming  ruin. 

We  busied  ourselves  in  trying  to  find  some  way  of 
escape  from  the  present  very  gloomy  outlook.  Our 
friends  tried  to  reassure  us,  to  encourage  us,  and 
boldly  asserted  that  if  we  were  fortunate  enough  to 
follow  up  the  great  success  we  had  achieved  with 
Afyrrha,  we  should  easily  carry  the  public  along 
■with  us. 

On  Tuesday,  June  5th,  we  repeated  Myn-Jia. 
After  the  enthusiastic  criticisms  on  the  previous  per- 
formance in  the  newspapers,  people  came  in  crowds 
to  see  it,  and  our  success  surpassed  every  anticipa- 
tion. Indeed,  from  that  evening  Myrrha  was  all  the 
rage.  Our  artistic  and  financial  success  was  assured. 
The  tragedy  was  repeated  until  it  had  to  be  removed 
to  make  way  for  Mary  Stuart. 

The  Press  was  as  unanimous  in  its  verdict  as  the 
Public.  But  I  regretted  that  in  praising  me  a  certain 
bitterness  was  mingled  against  Rachel.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  this  most  si£:nificant  chansfe  in  the 


FIRST  JOURNEY   TO  FRANCE.  37 

attitude  of  the  Press  had  been  brought  about  in  some 
degree  by  the  accusation  that  she  had  responded 
with  ingratitude  to  the  great  affection  the  public  had 
always  shown  her,  adoring  her  as  a  Muse,  and  as  its 
special  favorite.  Whether  the  accusation  was  right 
or  wrong  I  could  not  judge,  but,  as  matters  were  in 
such  a  state,  it  was  certainly  not  expedient  for  me  to 
invite  her  to  come  and  hear  me.  Had  I  done  so,  it 
might  have  been  supposed  that  I  wanted  her  to  be  a 
witness  of  my  triumph.  I  blushed  at  the  mere 
thought!  And  I  abstained  from  offering  any  such 
invitation,  and  in  this  had  the  approval  of  my  friends, 
Janin,  Ary-Scheffer,  and  others,  whose  advice  I 
sought.    . 

Meanwhile  the  intimates  of  Rachel,  alarmed  at  the 
magnitude  of  my  success,  made  every  effort  to  neu- 
tralize it,  fearing  it  might  eclipse  the  brightness  of  the 
great  actress's  crown. 

When,  through  an  unexpected  return  of  Rachel  to 
the  stage,  I  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  on  the 
evening  of  June  6th  in  the  character  of  Camilla  in 
the  Horatii,  I  was  still  more  confirmed  in  that  con- 
viction. A  box  was  kindly  sent  me  for  this  play 
through  the  courtesy  of  M.  Arsene  Houssaye,  at  that 
time  Director  of  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  in  his  name 
and  that  of  the  whole  Company,  to  be  present  at 
that  solemn  performance  which  coincided  with  the 
anniversary  of  Corneille.  The  moment  Rachel  ap- 
peared on  the  stage  I  understood  the  potency  of  her 
fascination.  I  seemed  to  behold  before  me  a  Roman 
statue:    her   bearing  was  majestic;  her  step  royal; 


38  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

the  draping  of  her  mantle,  the  folds  of  her  tunic, 
everj'thing  was  studied  with  wonderful  artistic  talent. 

Perhaps  critique  might  have  been  able  to  find  a 
little  fault  with  the  unchanging  arrangement  of  the 
folds,  which  never  fell  out  of  order. 

As  a  woman,  it  was  easy  for  me  to  understand  the 
reason  for  that  arrangement :  Rachel  was  extremely 
thin,  and  used  every  pains  to  conceal  it.  But  with 
what  marvellous  skill  she  did  so  !  She  knew  thorough- 
ly how  to  modulate  her  voice — at  times  it  was  magi- 
cal. At  the  wondrous  culminating  point  of  the 
imprecation  flung  at  Rome  and  the  Romans,  such 
accents  of  hate  and  fury  rushed  from  her  heart  that 
the  whole  audience  shuddered  at  them. 

I  had  ratified  without  hesitation  the  enthusiasm, 
the  judgment  borne  by  all  Europe  to  the  eminent 
qualities  which  won  Rachel  her  glorious  renown. 
She  had  not  only  the  genius  of  the  stage,  enthusiasm, 
mobility  of  feature,  variety  and  nobleness  of  pose — 
she  was  able  to  incarnate  herself  in  her  role,  and 
keep  it  up  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  piece 
without  neglecting  the  smallest  detail  ;  giving  all  her 
great  effects  skilfully,  and  the  most  minute  scrup- 
ulously. Now  it  is  in  fulfilling  these  requirements, 
and  on  this  sole  condition,  that  one  can  be  proclaimed 
a  great  artist. 

I  heard  and  saw  only  her,  and  I  paid  her  the  trib- 
ute of  the  most  frantic  applause  !  How  fully  I 
appreciated  the  judgment  of  the  critics  when  they 
ascertained  that  there  were  no  such  points  of  con- 
trast between  us  tw^o,  which  could  be  used  to  our 
mutual  injury.     She  was  the  tragic  genius  of  France, 


FIRST  JOURNEY   TO   FRANCE.  39 

and  we  followed  two  widely  different  paths.  We  had 
two  different  modes  of  expression ;  she  could  excite 
the  greatest  enthusiasm  in  her  transports,  so  beauti- 
ful was  her  diction,  so  statuesque  her  pose.  In  the 
most  passionate  situation,  however,  her  expression 
was  regulated  by  the  rules  imposed  by  the  traditional 
French  school,  yet  the  power  of  her  voice,  the  fasci- 
nation of  her  look  were  such,  that  she  compelled 
admiration  and  applause.  We,  on  the  contrary,  do 
not  believe  that  in  culminating  moments  of  passion 
this  self-possession  is  possible.  When  a  person  is 
overtaken  by  unexpected  sorrow,  or  sudden  joy,  is  it 
not  the  natural  instinct  to  move  the  hand  to  the 
head,  and  as  a  necessary  consequence  must  not  the 
hair  be  disarranged  ? 

The  Italian  school  of  acting,  then,  holds  that  one 
of  the  chief  objects  of  the  stage  is  to  represent  nature 
in  a  living  and  truthful  manner. 

After  all,  what  most  troubled  me,  was  the  knowl- 
edge that  these  numerous  and  faithful  admirers  of 
Rachel  had  influenced  her  against  me  ;  but  that  what- 
ever efforts  my  friends  and  her  acquaintances  made 
to  draw  us  together,  in  accordance  with  my  intense 
desire,  none  seemed  likely  to  succeed. 

Unfortunately,  in  these  cases,  there  are  always 
zealous  people,  so-called  friends,  who  are  ready 
to  foment  disagreements  by  a  variety  of  injurious 
misrepresentations.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  these  to 
impress  upon  Rachel's  mind  that  I  had  spoken  dis- 
respectfully of  her.  Others,  again,  came  and  reported 
to  me  that  Rachel,  in  a  fit  of  artistic  jealousy,  had 
used   malicious   expressions   concerning  me.     They 


40  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

tried  to  make  me  believe  that,  desirous  to  be  present 
at  a  performance  of  Afyrrha,  and  yet  anxious  to 
escape  recognition,  and  avoid  the  observations  and 
comments  of  the  curious,  she  seated  herself  closely 
mufifled  up  at  the  back  of  a  box ;  that  after  the  fourth 
act,  which  contains  some  of  my  most  important 
scenes,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  public  applause,  she, 
not  being  able  any  longer  to  control  herself,  tore  to 
pieces  the  book  of  words  she  held  in  her  hand, 
and,  exclaiming,  '^  Cette  femme  me  fait  mal ;  je  rCen 
peux  plus  !'^  left  the  theatre,  in  spite  of  all  the  per- 
suasions of  those  who  were  with  her,  I  never 
believed  such  gossip  and  I  should  have  wished  to 
hint  to  the  friends  of  the  great  artist  the  way  to  calm 
her,  proving  to  her  that  her  immense  merit  placed  her 
above  the  instability  of  public  opinion,  and  that  in 
spite  of  the  reality  of  my  success  this  could  in  no 
way  diminish  the  power  of  her  genius. 

My  performances  excited  increasing  interest  and 
enthusiasm  and  I  became  a  great  favorite  with  the 
public.  The  burst  of  applause  which  saluted  my 
appearance  on  the  stage  was  not  so  grateful  to  me  as 
the  deep  silence  which  followed  upon  it.  How  much 
that  silence  of  the  audience  is  fertile  of  inspiration,  how 
it  penetrates  in  the  soul  of  the  artist,  how  the  creative 
fire  which  exists  in  art  transports  and  transforms 
him  !  When  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  represent 
subjects  of  supreme  importance  before  an  audience 
who  worshipped  art  with  true  devotion,  and  were 
ready  and  able  to  identify  themselves  with  the  pas- 
sions reproduced  upon  the  stage — to  count,  as  I  may 
say,  the  heart-throbs  of  the  character  which  moved 


FIRST  JOURNEY  TO  FRANCE.  4 1 

them,  by  their  own — all  this  intoxicated  me,  made 
me  feel  as  though  I  were  endowed  with  superhuman 
powers ;  enabled  me  by  a  sudden  inspiration  to 
improvise  effects  which  I  had  never  studied,  but 
which  were  truer  and  more  vigorous  than  those  I  had 
before  conceived  ;  while  above  and  beyond  all  was  a 
predominating  feeling  of  legitimate  pride  at  knowing 
that  there  yet  lay  dormant  within  me  unrevealed  and 
fertile  germs  of  art. 

Mary  Stuart,  by  Schiller,  translated  into  splendid 
Italian  verses  by  Andrea  Maffei,  was  the  last  of  my 
most  successful  performances  in  Paris.  This  tragedy 
was  played  alternately  with  Pia  de'  Tolomei,  but  I 
cannot  say  that  the  latter  excited  as  much  enthusiasm 
in  the  French  public  as  Myrrha  and  Mary  Stuart, 
although  I  remember  that  it  was  successful  in  pro- 
ducing a  considerable  impression  ;  for  the  adventures 
of  the  unfortunate  Sienese  lady  were  so  thrilling  and 
pitiful  that  they  diverted  the  attention  from  the  more 
emotional  parts  of  the  play.  It  was,  however,  re- 
ceived with  much  interest  by  literary  men,  because 
the  subject  is  one  immortalized  by  Dante,  by  whose 
verses  the  tragedy  is  inspired. 

Our  renowned  tragic  author,  Carlo  Marenco,  has 
certainly  known  how  to  raise  the  action  in  the  last 
act  to  the  highest  grade  of  sentiment,  and  so  to 
arrange  that  the  most  terrible  final  idea  of  the  play 
embraces  in  itself,  in  one  grand  emotion,  all  the 
development  of  the  subject. 

The  critics  have  been  severe  in  analyzing  the  pre- 
ceding acts,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  this  last  act 


42  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

was  enough  to  be  obliged  to  give  the  tribute  of  a  tear 

to  her  who  said  : 

Ricordati  di  me,  che  son  la  Pia 
Siena  mi  fe,  disfecemi  Maremma. 

I  made  a  special  study  of  the  death  of  Pia,  in  the 
fifth  act,  as  I  desired  to  reproduce  faithfully  the 
dying  agony  and  the  last  gasps  for  life  of  a  young 
woman  imprisoned  by  order  of  an  unjustly  cruel 
husband,  in  the  pestiferous  Maremma  Marshes. 
This  end  caused  me  serious  thought.  But  how  to 
represent  upon  the  stage  with  perfect  truth,  in  full 
realism,  as  it  would  now  be  said,  the  mournful  pict- 
ure of  a  slow  agony,  without  having  recourse  to  the 
imagination  ? 

While  thus  irresolute,  a  really  extraordinary  chance 
caused  me  to  witness  the  last  moments  of  a  poor  girl 
who  was  dying  of  perniciosa  (violent  malaria  fever). 
This  afflicting  scene  made  such  a  deep  impression 
upon  my  memory,  that  although  I  succeeded  in  faith- 
fully reproducing  that  heart-rending  close,  identifying 
myself,  so  to  say,  with  the  dying  victim,  I  was  de- 
pressed at  every  representation  with  the  vividness  of 
that  painful  remembrance. 

At  this  point  it  might  be  said  that  the  Italian  drama 
had  entered  into  Parisian  habits.  The  partisans  of 
Rachel  were  inconsolable.  The  attacks  against  me 
continued  incessantly.  It  was  then,  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, that  I  one  day  received  from  some  of  them  an 
invitation  to  supper  where  I  was  at  last  to  meet  the 
great  artist  in  the  house  of  a  literary  man — a  bachelor. 
My  husband,  after  having  read  the  list  of  guests,  did 
not  think  himself  justified  in  allowing  me  to  accept 


FIRST  JOURNEY   TO  FRANCE.  43 

the  invitation  given  in  this  way.     We  found  a  plausi- 
ble pretext  for  excusing  ourselves. 

Time  went  on,  and  I  was  no  longer  thinking  of  the 
possibility  of  a  meeting  with  Rachel,  when  one 
morning  Mdme.  Ode,  the  famous  dressmaker  of  the 
Empress  Eugenie,  was  announced  to  me.  She  had 
to  speak  to  me  on  a  subject  of  importance.  I  fancied 
it  was  about  some  dresses  of  mine,  but  she  said 
immediately : 

"You  know,  certainly,  how  much  Mile.  Rachel 
has  been  hurt  by  the  attacks  of  which  she  is  the 
victim,  and  to  which  you  served  as  a  pretext.  But 
you  do  not  know,  perhaps,  that  there  has  been  an 
attempt  to  embitter  her  against  you  by  reporting  that 
you  did  not  speak  of  her  with  the  consideration  which 
she  rightly  believes  her  due." 

"It  is  not  true  !  "  I  answered  sharply,  "  and  I  hope 
Mile.  Rachel  has  not  given  any  more  credence  to 
those  mischievous  insinuations  than  I  did  when  I 
heard  reported  some  very  unkind  criticisms  she  was 
said  to  have  uttered  about  me  !  I  went  to  hear  her 
in  the  Ho7'atii,  and  I  expressed  all  the  enthusiasm 
she  ai'oused  in  me.  I  commissioned  some  intimate 
friends  to  make  known  to  her  my  admiration,  as  well 
as  my  keen  desire  to  meet  her  ;  but  all  their  attempts 
to  bring  us  together  were  fruitless.  Let  us  say  no 
more  about  it." 

"And  if  I  were  to  tell  you,  Madame,  that  Mile. 
Rachel  has  made  known  to  me  her  wish  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  If  that  is  true,  let  her  come  to  me,  then,  and  I 
will  receive  her  as  such  a  celebrity  is  entitled  to  be 
received." 


44  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

But,  as  Mdme.  Ode  seemed  not  willing  to  take  in 
the  sense  of  my  proposal,  but,  on  the  contrary,  made 
me  to  understand  that  the  first  advances  should  come 
from  me,  I  thought  it  best  to  answer : 

"  I  do  not  think  I  ought  now  to  renew  the  expres- 
sion of  my  desire  to  know  her,  which  was  communi- 
cated to  her  by  my  friends  on  my  arrival  in  Paris, 
when  I  was  most  anxious  to  obtain  the  support  of 
the  great  actress  in  the  serious  undertaking  I  had 
embarked  in — now  it  is  too  late !  " 

"  But,  if  Mile.  Rachel  were  to  send  you  a  box  to 
hear  her,  would  you  accept  it  ?  " 

"  With  delight !  and  I  would  give  up  any  engage- 
ment I  might  have  already,  in  order  not  to  deprive 
myself  of  such  a  treat." 

So  the  next  day  I  received  a  letter,  enclosing  a 
box-ticket  for  the  Comedie  Franfaise,  on  which  was 
written  "^  Aladame  Risiori,  sa  camarade  RacheV — 
a  letter  which  I  have  carefully  preserved. 

I  was  in  my  place  on  the  evening  mentioned  before 
the  play  began.  It  was  Phccdre.  Not  only  was  I 
most  anxious  to  see  Rachel  in  this  masterpiece  of 
Racine's,  but  it  was  also  one  of  the  favorite  parts  of 
my  own  repertoire,  and  had  been  the  object  of  most 
serious  study  with  me. 

Although  I  perceived  that  the  spectators  were 
interested  in  the  manifestations  of  my  approval,  yet 
I  did  not  lavish  it  upon  everything  Rachel  did.  I 
found  her  person  statuesque,  and  her  first  entrance 
on  the  stage  magnificent,  but  the  prostration  she 
showed  seemed  to  me  excessive ;  all  the  more  so 
because  she  neglected  to  make  clearly  apparent  how 


FIRST  JOURNEY  TO  FRANCE.  45 

greatly  this  prostration  was  due  only  to  moral  depres- 
sion, which  disappears  when  its  cause  is  removed, 
allowing  the  physical  powers  to  resume  their  full  vigor. 

Grand  and  powerful  was  the  scene  in  the  second 
act  with  Hippolyte,  in  which  she  reveals  her  passion  ; 
but  I  found,  contrary  to  her  habitual  acting,  too  much 
realism  in  the  impetuosity  of  its  execution.  In  the 
fourth  act  Rachel  was  really  sublime,  and  the  admi- 
ration and  irresistible  emotions  she  excited  in  me 
were  so  great  that  I  was  most  powerfully  moved,  and 
yet,  hearty  as  was  my  applause,  I  felt  it  but  half  ex- 
pressed the  enthusiasm  which  possessed  me.  When 
the  curtain  fell,  in  the  fullness  of  my  enthusiasm  I 
wrote  hurriedly  on  one  of  my  visiting  cards  a  few 
words,  which  I  sent  to  Rachel  in  her  dressing-room. 
The  sending  of  this  card  was  the  last  intercourse  I 
ever  had  with  her. 

Towards  the  end  of  my  stay  in  Paris,  I  received 
repeated  and  most  pressing  offers  to  dedicate  myself 
exclusively  to  the  French  theatre,  but  nothing  would 
ever  have  induced  me  to  renounce  my  Italian  career. 
To  all  such  proposals  I  gave  an  unqualified  refusal, 
alleging,  as  a  pretext,  the  great  difficulty  of  acquiring 
the  necessary  purity  of  language  and  perfection  of 
accent. 

It  was  then  that  the  minister,  Fould,  repeated  a 
similar  request  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor,  offering 
me  a  year's  sojourn  in  Paris  at  the  expense  of  the 
State,  in  order  that  I  might  qualify  myself,  under  the 
best  masters,  for  occupying  the  post  which  Rachel 
was  going  to  leave  free  at  the  Comedie  Fran9aise. 
I  held  firm  in  declining  the  honor  offered  me,  not 


46  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

without  thanking  the  Minister,  and  adding  that  I 
thought  the  great  actress  would  not  be  able  to  do 
without  the  applause  of  her  public,  and  that  this 
would  be  always  glad  to  see  her  again  on  the  stage. 
However,  my  refusal  in  no  way  prejudiced  me  with 
M.  Fould,  who  with  much  courtesy  granted  me  the 
favor  I  requested  him,  in  allowing  me  for  three  con- 
secutive years  the  use  of  the  Salle  Ventadour  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  a  series  of  Italian  dramatic  repre- 
sentations. Thus  I  not  only  had  the  great  satisfaction 
of  succeeding  in  my  original  design,  which  was  to 
render  our  art  esteemed  in  foreign  countries,  but  I 
went  beyond  it  in  opening  up  a  new  field  for  the 
exercise  of  Italian  artistic  ability,  not  only  in  Europe, 
but,  as  will  afterwards  be  seen,  in  America  as  well, 
where  it  did  honor  to  our  country. 

It  was  with  much  regret  that  I  left  Paris,  where  I 
had  had  the  good  fortune  to  become  acquainted  with 
the  men  and  women  most  celebrated  in  literature  and 
art.  I  may  especially  mention  Lamartine,  George 
Sand,  Guizot,  Mignet,  Henri  Martin,  Ary  Shefifler, 
Halevy,  Janin,  Legouve,  Scribe,  Patin,  Theophile 
Gautier,  Sarcey,  Eduard  Plouvier,  Reigner,  Samson, 
Roqueplan,  Theodore  Anne,  Mile.  Georges,  Madame 
Allan,  Augustine  and  Madeleine  Brohan,  besides 
many  others  whom  it  would  take  too  long  to  enumer- 
ate. I  had  to  say  "  Good-b3'e  "  to  all  these — to  bid 
farewell  to  the  excellent  Alexandre  Dumas,  who  used 
to  came  to  us  dail}'^,  when  we  had  the  benefit  of  his 
inexhaustible  wit  and  humor.  How  many  hours  we 
spent  together  !  It  was  indeed  delightful  to  hear  him 
tell  story  after  story  with  his  prodigious  eloquence. 


FIRST  JOURNEY  TO  FRANCE.  47 

He  would  tell  us  anecdotes  of  travel,  and  events  in 
his  own  life,  reminiscences  of  past  days  which  he  has 
scattered  throughout  his  books.  We  were  only  too 
charmed  to  listen  to  him,  and  took  good  care  never 
to  interrupt  him.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  hear  him 
still  when  he  related  that,  in  the  early  days  of  his 
admiration  for  me,  one  evening  as  he  came  out  from 
a  representation  of  Myrrha,  and  was  striding  along 
the  Passage  Choiseul,  he  met  a  great  friend  of  his. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her? "  he  asked. 

"  Of  whom  t  " 

"  Of  Ristori.     Have  you  not  been  at  the  theatre  ? " 

"  I  have  never  heard  her.  " 

"  And  are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself  to  say 
so  ?  "  And  with  this  he  crushed  his  friend  with  an 
avalanche  of  eulogistic  epithets  upon  me.  "  I  will 
never  speak  to  you  again  if  you  do  not  go  to  see 
her  !  " 

A  few  days  after,  meeting  his  friend  again  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  de  Berlin,  with  his  head  still  full 
of  the  same  subject — 

"  Well,  what  play  have  you  seen  her  in  ?  " 

"  Let  me  alone ;  one  has  not  always  six  francs  in 
one's  pocket,  nor  am  I  reduced  to  the  condition  of  a 
claqueur. " 

"  Then  you  would  rather  T  lent  you  six  francs  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.     I  will  go  when  I  can. " 

"You  can  return  me  the  money  at  your  conven- 
ience. " 

'  But  no,  no,  no." 

Then  Dumas,  who  would  not  let  him  alone,  per- 
sisted :  "  I   am   determined  you  shall  go   and   see 


48  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Ristori."  He  drew  his  purse  out  of  his  pocket. 
"  Look  here, "  he  said,  "  I  shall  lay  the  six  francs 
down  here ;  if  you  wont  have  them,  the  first  comer 
may. "  And  he  laid  the  money  on  a  street-bourne, 
such  as  were  still  standing  in  Paris  at  that  time. 

"Do  pray  leave  me  in  peace,"  replied  the  friend; 
and  both  of  them  went  away  in  opposite  directions. 

]\Ieanwhile  the  six  francs  remained  where  Dumas 
had  placed  them ;  but  the  friend  had  hardly  turned 
the  corner  of  the  street  when  he  stopped,  saying  to 
himself,  "  But  when  all  is  said  and  done,  six  francs 
are  not  a  fortune.  I  can  return  them  to  him.  And 
if  I  leave  the  money  there  some  one  would  be  sure  to 
come  by  and  say,  '  Some  fool  has  placed  this  here ; 
let  me  take  it ; '  "  and,  supported  by  this  logical  con- 
clusion, he  turned  back.  To  his  intense  surprise, 
when  he  reached  the  spot  he  came  upon  Dumas  face 
to  face,  who  in  his  turn  had  concluded  that  if  his  fool 
of  a  friend  would  not  have  his  money  he  had  better 
take  it  back  himself.  Thus  meeting  each  other,  they 
burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  the  obstinate  friend 
promised  that  he  would  certainly  come  and  see  me. 
Dumas  always  laughed  immoderately  when  he  related 
this  adventure,  which  he  declared  he  would  by  and 
by  write  under  the  title  of  The  Two  Millionaires. 

Another  day  Dumas  boasted  at  our  house  that  he 
could  cook  and  season  maccaroni  alia  Napoletafia  as 
well  as  an  Italian  cook,  and  when  he  heard  our  ex- 
clamations of  incredulity  he  dared  us  to  put  his  skill 
to  the  test. 

We  were  then  living  at  the  Hotel  de  Bade,  Bou- 
levard des  Italiens,  which  was  filled  with  foreigners. 


FIRST  JOURNEY   TO   FRANCE.  49 

The  report  spread  in  the  hotel  of  what  Dumas  was 
going  to  do.  The  windows  were  full  of  people 
watching  the  author  of  the  Trois  Mousqiietaires,  ar- 
rayed in  white  jacket  and  apron,  a  cook's  cap  to 
match  on  his  curly  head,  a  saucepan  in  hand,  and  his 
jovial  face  showing  at  the  moment  that  he  had  quite 
forgotten  the  triumphs  obtained  by  the  adventures  of 
Athos,  Porthos,  and  Aramis,  in  his  eagerness  to 
achieve  successfully  the  dressing  of  a  dish  of  mac- 
caroni. 

With  this  pleasant  reminiscence  I  conclude  the 
narrative  of  our  first  sojourn  in  France.  I  was  heart- 
ily sorry  to  leave  this  country  after  having  received 
there,  I  may  venture  to  say,  the  baptism  of  fame. 
The  French  had  proved  to  me  that  for  them  there  is 
no  foreign  boundary  in  the  domains  of  art,  and  I 
shall  ever  preserve  in  the  depths  of  my  heart  a  sen- 
timent of  deep  gratitude  for  the  generous  reception 
they  gave  the  stranger. 
4 


CHAPTER  III. 

MY   FIRST   TOUR   IN    EUROPE, 

Afterwards  we  went  into  Belgium,  not  without 
having  given  some  representations  on  the  journey- 
through  the  north  of  France ;  then  we  proceeded  to 
Dresden  and  Berlin,  obtaining  a  great  success  every- 
where. 

In  November  I  returned  to  my  own  dear  country, 
and  there  finished  my  original  contract,  giving  vari- 
ous representations  at  Milan  and  Turin,  and  then 
making  a  brief  stay  at  Verona,  Udine,  and  Trieste. 
on  my  way  to  Vienna.   • 

When  they  saw  me  again,  the  Italian  public  did 
not  know  how  to  thank  me  sufficiently  for  having 
rendered  Italian  art  known  and  esteemed  in  foreign 
lands. 

I  was  invited  to  Vienna  to  give  twelve  perform- 
ances at  the  Karnthnarthor,  the  old  Imperial  Theatre. 

My  first  appearance  in  the  Austrian  capital  took 
place  on  the  4th  February  1856.  Alfieri's  Myrrha 
was  my  first  performance,  and  I  could  not  possibly 
have  wished  for  a  more  enthusiastic  welcome  than 
that  which  I  received  from  the  Viennese  public. 

The  theatre  was  crowded  at  every  one  of  my  per- 
formances, and  I  was  frequently  honored  by  the 
presence  of  the  Court.  In  preparing  for  the  first 
representation  of  Mary  Stuart  I  experienced  the 
(50) 


MY  FIRST   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  51 

greatest  agitation,  for  I  knew  what  comparisons  I 
had  to  sustain,  and  what  publicity  and  importance 
attached  to  that  evening.  My  nerves  were  shaken, 
and  a  certain  agitation  took  possession  of  me. 

At  my  customary  hour  I  repaired  to  the  theatre, 
and  went  to  my  dressing-room  in  the  perfect  posses- 
sion of  all  my  usual  health,  and  with  scarcely  con- 
cealed nervousness  I  began  to  dress.  The  excessive 
heat  of  the  stoves,  of  which  the  theatre  was  full, 
began  to  tell  upon  me  ;  the  blood  mounted  to  my 
head,  and  affected  my  voice.  My  heart  beat  fast  in 
fear  of  some  serious  consequences ;  by  degrees  my 
voice  grew  hu3ky  until  I  almost  lost  it  entirely !  I 
was  in  despair !  Without  hesitation  or  reflection  I 
threw  up  the  window,  which  looked  upon  a  bastion 
of  the  city,  and  heedless  of  the  cold  usual  to  the 
season — it  was  now  the  17th  of  February — or  of  the 
possible  evil  consequences  such  an  imprudence  might 
entail  upon  me,  I  unfastened  the  body  of  my  dress 
and  I  exposed  myself  to  that  icy  temperature,  hoping 
that  the  reaction  it  would  produce  within  me  would 
be  sufficient  to  restore  my  voice  and  enable  me  to 
undertake  my  part  in  the  tragedy. 

The  doctor,  surprising  me  at  the  window,  asked 
me  if  I  had  lost  my  senses. 

"  My  voice,  Doctor  !  "  I  cried.  "  For  mercy's  sake 
give  me  back  my  voice  !  " 

He  replied  that  if  I  had  the  courage  to  use  a  very 
strong  gargle  which  had  been  employed  advanta- 
geously in  similar  cases  by  famous  vocalists,  he  could 
restore  me  at  least  as  much  voice  as  would  enable 
me  to  go  through  the  play. 


52  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR/. 

"  Give  me  poison  if  it  will  do  any  good  !  "  I  cried. 
I  knew  that  the  remedy  suggested  was  not  poison, 
but  it  did  taste  quite  bad  enough  to  have  been  such. 

I  did  not,  indeed,  fully  recover  my  voice,  but  an 
announcement  was  made  to  th'e  audience,  asking 
them  to  excuse  any  deficiency  on  my  part  in  the 
representation  of  Mary  Stuart,  and  I  was  more  suc- 
cessful than  I  could  have  hoped. 

This  anecdote  will  serve  to  show  how  great  was 
my  consideration  for  the  public,  and  what  a  strong 
hold  the  feeling  of  duty  had  upon  me. 

Indeed,  I  cannot  describe  the  influence  the  public 
exercised  over  me.  Since  childhood,  a  sentiment  of 
mingled  respect  and  awe  towards  my  audience  had 
been  inculcated  in  me,  and  the  feeling  had  grown 
with  my  growth.  I  made  it  a  special  study,  there- 
fore, to  allow  no  unforeseen  circumstances  to  discon- 
cert me,  so  that  the  public  should  not  be  disap- 
pointed on  account  of  the  performance  not  being 
as  good  as  we  could  make  it.  And  I  was  called 
upon  to  put  one  of  these  fundamental  maxims 
into  use,  on  one  of  the  evenings  when  I  appeared  as 
Judith  in  the  Biblical  tragedy  written  expressly  for 
me  by  my  friend  and  favorite  author,  the  lamented 
Paolo  Giacometti. 

In  the  culminating  scene  of  the  play,  when  I  have 
cut  off  the  head  of  Holophernes,  his  favorite  slave, 
Azraele,  discovering  the  murder  of  her  lover,  hurls 
herself  in  her  fury  upon  me,  and  I  seize  hold  of  her 
and  throw  her  to  the  ground,  thus  terminating  the 
act  with  great  effect.  A  very  short  time  before  she 
ought  to  have  made  her  entrv,  thev  informed  me  from 


MY  FIRST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  53 

the  wings,  with  much  perturbation,  that  the  actress 
had  been  seized  with  convulsions,  and  would  not  be 
able  to  finish  the  act.  I  replied  in  an  instant,  "One 
of  you  put  on  her  dress,  throw  a  veil  over  your  head, 
and  come  to  me."  My  order  was  obeyed  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning  j  but  the  poor  girl  who  assumed 
the  part  did  not  know  how  to  move,  nor  how  to  speak, 
as  she  had  no  idea  of  the  words  she  ought  to  say ! 

But  I  was  not  dismayed.  I  induced  her  to  advance 
towards  me  as  though  to  kill  me,  when  I  seized  her, 
and  there  and  then  extemporised  a  kind  of  little 
dialogue.  May  I  be  forgiven  those  verses !  The 
public  never  noticed  the  little  ruse.,  and  they  were 
not  disappointed,  and  the  result  was  completely  suc- 
cessful. 

In  my  performances  of  Medea.,  I  was  frequently 
obliged  to  meet  an  unforeseen  emergency,  and  show 
presence  of  mind.  Often  when  travelling  in  foreign 
countries  having  only  to  give  one  representation  of 
Medea — and  having  one  single  child  available  in  the 
company,  the  second,  who  had  not  to  speak,  had  to 
be  provided  by  the  property-man.  Generally  I  had 
to  instruct  him  by  gestures,  as  we  did  not  understand 
one  another.  Once  it  happened  that  one  of  these 
poor  little  wretches,  not  being  accustomed  to  the 
stage,  grew  frightened  from  the  moment  I  appeared 
on  the  mountain  carrying  him  in  my  arms.  When  he 
heard  the  applause  with  which  I  was  received,  and 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  foot-lights  and  the  crowded 
pit,  he  began  to  cry  and  struggle,  and  endeavor  to 
escape  from  my  hold.  I  had  to  make  a  great  effort 
to  keep  my  head  cool  enough  to  commence  my  own 


54  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TO  EI. 

part  and  prevent  myself  falling  down  the  mountain, 
while  at  the  same  time  I  tried  to  make  my  prisoner 
understand  by  my  caresses  that  he  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  me,  and  that  somewhat  quieted  him.  Fre- 
quently his  mother,  or  sister,  or  father  was  obliged  to 
stand  all  the  time  at  the  wings  making  signs,  and 
whispering  comforting  words  in  order  to  assure  him 
he  was  in  no  danger. 

But  a  worse  thing  than  this  once  happened  to  me, 
at  the  end  of  the  tragedy,  at  the  most  thrilling  point, 
when,  assailed  by  the  Corinthians,  I  fled  desperately 
across  the  stage,  dragging  my  children  with  me  by 
either  hand,  mingling  my  screams  with  those  of  the 
populace,  and  ending  by  throwing  the  two  little  ones 
on  the  steps  of  the  altar  of  Saturn,  where  I  feigned 
to  kill  them.  While  concealing  them  by  my  person — 
I  remained  immovable  as  a  statue — one  of  the  mur- 
dered youngsters  began  to  howl,  and  in  its  fright 
suddenly  got  up  and  ran  behind  the  scenes  before  I 
could  do  anything  to  prevent  him.  And  just  to  think 
that  the  public  was  to  imagine  that  I  had  murdered 
him  !  Although  the  audience  was  deeply  impressed 
by  the  tragic  action  of  this  scene,  yet  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  avoid  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  sight  of  the  dead 
child  running  away. 

In  April,  1856,  I  returned  to  Paris.  As  had  been 
arranged  the  year  before  with  M.  Legouvd,  steps 
were  taken  at  once  to  put  Medea  on  the  stage  as 
quickly  as  possible.  In  the  analytical  study  of  this 
tragedy — one  of  six  which  I  have  chosen  from  my 
repertoire,  and  which  follows  in  the  second  part  of 
this  volume — the  reader  will  find  a  minute  account  of 


MV  FIRST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  55 

the  circumstances  which  led  to  my  acceptance  of  the 
part,  and  of  the  events  which  preceded  the  appearance 
of  the  work,  and  the  gratifying  result  of  our  labors 
on  the  night  of  the  8th  April. 

Medea  ran  for  nineteen  evenings,  and  it  might 
have  gone  on  for  a  greater  number,  if  I  had  not  been 
obliged  to  alternate  it  with  those  dramas  in  which  I 
had  appeared  the  year  before. 

From  Paris  we  went  to  London.  I  gave  my  first 
performance  in  the  elegant  Lyceum  Theatre  on  the 
4th  June,  1856,  selecting  Medea  as  the  opening  piece. 
The  English  public  were  so  greatly  prejudiced  in  my 
favor  by  the  French,  German,  and  Belgian  newspa- 
perSj  that  they  gave  me  the  warmest  welcome,  and 
came  in  crowds  to  hear  me,  showing  me  the  most 
flattering  signs  of  sympathy  and  esteem. 

Many  of  the  most  distinguished  literary  men  in 
England  were  surprised  that  I  had  not  added  Macbeth 
— in  my  opinion  the  greatest  work  of  Shakespeare — 
to  my  repertoire.  I  urged  that  a  foreign,  travelling 
company,  could  not  undertake  such  a  play,  because 
of  the  want  of  scenery,  and  of  the  necessary  number 
of  actors.  I  was  answered  that  in  England,  at  that 
period,  it  was  often  found  necessary  to  adapt  such 
works,  not  only  to  the  capacity  and  numbers  of  the 
actors,  but  also  to  the  state  and  requirements  of  the 
audience,  who  were  not  able  to  criticise  justly  the 
times,  the  places,  and  the  conditions  under  which 
Shakespeare's  dramatic  genius  was  developed. 

I  objected  to  this,  as  it  seemed  to  me  a  sacrilege 
to  adapt  and  mutilate  the  work  of  the  greatest  English 
poet.  We  Italians  would  not  venture  to  touch  a 
single  line  of  our  classics. 


56  ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 

They  assured  me  that  it  was  done  without  scruple, 
in  order  to  render  it  comprehensible  to  all  intelli- 
gences. To  say  the  truth,  their  argument  was  not 
illogical,  and  finally,  as  they  proposed  to  assume  the 
onus  of  the  undertaking,  I  accepted,  and  on  my 
return  to  London,  in  June,  1857,  Macbeth,  arranged 
and  adapted  for  my  company  by  Mr.  Clark,  was  pro- 
duced at  Covent  Garden.  The  capital  Italian  trans- 
lation was  by  Giulio  Carcano.  Mr.  Harris  put  it  on 
the  stage  according  to  English  traditions.  The  part 
of  Lady  Macbeth,  which  afterwards  became  one  of 
my  especial  favorites,  occupied  me  greatly,  for  I 
knew  that  serious  comparisons  would  be  drawn. 

The  remembrance  of  the  marvellous  representation 
of  Lady  Macbeth  by  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  the  tradi- 
tional criticisms  of  the  press,  would,  as  it  seemed  to 
me,  be  certain  to  render  the  public  very  severe  and 
hard  to  please.  However,  I  devoted  all  my  skill 
and  knowledge  to  discovering  and  elucidating  the 
exact  meaning  of  the  author,  and  it  appeared  to  the 
English  that  I  succeeded  in  identifying  myself  with 
this  type  of  perfidy  and  crafty  cunning,  far  beyond 
their  expectations. 

The  drama  was  repeated  several  evenings,  produc- 
ing a  deep  impression  on  the  audience,  especially  in 
the  great  sleep-walking  scene.  So  fully,  indeed,  did 
I  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  part,  that  during  the 
whole  of  the  act  my  pupils  remained  immovable  in 
their  sockets,  until  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes. 
And  it  is  from  this  forced  immobility  that  I  date  the 
commencement  of  my  weakened  eye-sight. 

What  it  cost  me  to  discover  the  proper  intonation 


MY  FIRST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  57 

of  voice,  the  true  expression  of  face,  in  this  culminat- 
ing scene,  and,  indeed,  I  may  say,  throughout  my 
interpretation  of  this  diabolical  personage's  charac- 
ter, I  have  told  in  one  of  the  analytical  studies 
already  mentioned,  and  which  will  follow  hereafter. 

I  went  to  Warsaw  for  the  first  time  in  November 
1856.  I  may  say  that  my  acting  in  that  city  was 
most  brilliantly  successful ;  but  justice  requires  me 
to  add  that  this  result  was  facilitated  by  the  remarka- 
ble appreciation  shown  me,  on  my  first  appearance, 
by  the  elegant  and  courteous  ladies  of  the  Polish 
society.  I  was  made  the  object  of  endless  and  deli- 
cate attentions,  and  especially  on  the  part  of  the 
Governor,  Prince  Gortschakoff,  and  the  Princess  his 
wife  ;  and  this  hearty  welcome  induced  me  to  return 
thither  in  the  following  year. 

In  the  beginning  of  1859  I  went  for  the  first  time 
to  Naples  in  order  to  perform  at  the  Fondo,  the  very 
elegant  royal  theatre,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  14th 
January,  I  commenced  a  short  series  of  representa- 
tions with  Medea.  How  kindly  and  enthusiastic  I 
found  my  audience  it  is  more  easy  to  imagine  than 
describe.  Little  by  little  there  grew  up  between  us 
that  wonderful  magnetic  current  of  sympathy  which 
always  nerved  me  to  double  my  efforts  to  deserve 
their  favor. 

It  was  with  much  difficulty  that  I  obtained  the 
necessary  permission  from  the  Bourbon  Censor  to 
play  the  Phadra  of  Racine.  I  was  certain  that  how- 
ever much  mutilated,  there  would  be  still  quite 
enough  beauty  enshrined  in  the  work  to  produce  a 
very  great  impression  and  ensure  its  success.     But 


58  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

the  result  surpassed  my  expectation.  In  the  short 
space  of  fifteen  performances,  I  was  constrained  to 
repeat  Phcedra  five  times,  an  unusual  event  at  that 
date.  The  last  of  these  was  destined  for  my  benefit, 
and  on  the  morning  in  question  there  was  not  a 
place  to  be  had  in  the  theatre.  For  want  of  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  boxes  many  ladies  of  high  rank  had 
to  be  content  with  stalls.  A  cantata  was  specially 
composed  in  my  honor,  and  I  might  have  been  in  a 
garden,  so  great  was  the  quantity  of  flowers  showered 
upon  me.  The  reader  may  judge  how  such  an  ova- 
tion was  likely  to  excite  me,  and  what  an  impulse  it 
would  give  to  the  inspiration  of  the  artiste.  But 
with  all  my  pleasant  remembrances  of  the  occasion 
is  associated  one  anything  but  delightful. 

During  the  magnificent  scene  in  the  fourth  act, 
when  her  fit  of  jealous  fury  causes  Phaedra  to  fall 
into  a  state  almost  amounting  to  delirium,  I  so  lost 
myself  in  my  part,  that  instead  of  starting  back,  cry- 
ing, "Even  in  martyrs  the  soul  lives!  "  I  advanced 
unconsciously  towards  the  foot-lights  and  fell  on 
them.  The  audience  rose  with  a  loud  cry ;  and 
I  should  probably  have  been  badly  burnt  had  it  not 
been  for  the  presence  of  mind  of  a  young  gentleman 
who  occupied  a  seat  close  to  the  stage.  He,  seeing 
that  the  actress  who  played  the  part  of  the  cofifidaiite, 
Enone,  remained  stupidly  immovable  from  terror, 
gave  me  a  sharp  push  backwards,  thus  saving  me 
from  a  terrible  accident.  But  his  efforts  did  not 
entirely  succeed  in  averting  all  the  bad  consequences 
of  my  fall.  The  elbow  of  my  right  arm  broke  one 
of  the  glasses  covering  the  foot-lights,  and  when  I 


MV  FmST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  59 

regained  my  feet  I  saw  that  I  had  sustained  a  serious 
wound.  Much  worse  might  have  happened  to  me 
however.  If  the  theatre  had  been  lighted  with  gas 
instead  of  oil — as  it  was  before  my  arrival  in  Naples 
— the  gas  having  been  suppressed  in  every  public 
building  in  consequence  of  an  explosion  which  had 
occurred  in  a  man-of-war,  and  which  was  suspected 
of  being  the  result  of  some  political  plot — I  should 
probably  have  been  burnt  to  death. 

The  stage  was  immediately  invaded  by  a  crowd 
anxious  to  know  how  I  was.  Among  the  first  was 
the  Count  Siracusa,  brother  of  the  King  Ferdinand, 
bringing  the  Court  doctor.  When  my  arm  was  dress- 
ed they  began  to  say  that  I  owed  that  deplorable 
accident  to  the  presence  in  the  theatre  of  a  celebrated 
jettatore.  Count  Siracusa,  who  also  believed  in  the 
evil-eyed,  unfastened  from  his  breloqiies  a  falcon's 
claw  set  in  gold,  and  gave  it  to  me,  saying:  "I  killed 
this  bird  myself ;  wear  it  in  future  against  the  evil- 
eye."     I  have  always  kept  this  little  keepsake. 

I  was  taken  to  my  hotel,  and  during  two  months 
I  carried  my  arm  in  a  sling.  This,  however,  did  not 
prevent  me  from  fulfilling  my  engagements,  and  I 
acted  with  my  bandaged  arm,  taking  care  to  moder- 
ate the  energy  of  my  movements.  After  a  short  time 
it  healed  entirely,  but  I  still  retain  traces  of  the  un- 
fortunate accident  in  a  large  scar  on  my  arm. 

I  went  to  Madrid  the  same  year  to  give  a  series  of 
performances  in  the  theatre  of  the  Zarzuela,  and 
commenced  on  the  i6th  of  September  with  Legouve's 
Medea.  The  theatre  was  crammed,  and  the  recep- 
tion given  to  me  was  very  enthusiastic.     We  gave 


60  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

our  usual  series  of  performances,  and  the  success 
was  greater  and  greater  every  night.  Queen  Isabella 
came  to  the  theatre  every  night. 

On  the  2ist  I  had  to  repeat  Medea.  I  shall  never 
forget  that  evening,  marked  by  an  event  which  left 
an  indelible  remembrance  in  my  heart. 

I  went  to  the  theatre  at  my  usual  hour.  The 
actors'  dressing-rooms  opened  out  of  a  most  beauti- 
ful sitting-room,  and  here  I  remained  while  my  maid 
prepared  my  costume,  talking,  with  my  companions 
and  some  habitues.,  over  the  many  magnificent  and 
interesting  historical  things  we  had  seen  during  the 
last  few  days,  and  discussing  the  traditional  customs 
of  that  superb  country,  which  greatly  surprise  those 
who  make  acquaintance  with  them  for  the  first  time. 

"  For  instance,"  said  I,  "  what  was  the  meaning 
of  that  little  bell  which  was  rung  along  the  street  to- 
day by  one  of  the  members  of  a  confraternity?  " 

I  was  answered  that  it  was  to  collect  alms  for  the 
soul  of  a  man  condemned  to  death,  by  name  Nich- 
olas Chapado,  whose  sentence  was  to  be  carried  into 
effect  next  day.  The  unhappy  creature  was  a  soldier, 
who,  in  a  fit  of  anger,  had  drawn  his  sword  against 
his  sergeant  in  revenge  for  a  blow  the  latter  had  given 
him.  Besides,  I  was  told  that  his  poor  sister — igno- 
rant of  what  had  happened — being  by  chance  in  a 
shop  hard  by,  seeing  the  brother  of  the  company  of 
Sail  GiovaJini  decollato,  who  collected  the  alms,  in- 
quired who  it  was  that  was  to  be  shot.  When  she  heard 
her  brother's  name  she  fell  to  the  ground  in  a  swoon. 

This  history  touched  me  to  the  heart. 

"  My  God  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  while  we  are  here  full 


AfY  FIRST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  6 1 

of  gayety.  and  expecting  applause  and  success,  that 
miserable  man  is  counting  the  moments  he  has  yet 
to  live  !  " 

I  tried  in  vain  to  forget  this  gloomy  picture,  while  I 
was  obliged  to  think  of  my  costume. 

Soon  afterwards  two  people  asked  to  speak  with 
me.  My  husband  told  them  that  I  was  dressing, 
and,  therefore,  it  was  impossible  to  see  me.  When 
they  found  persistence  was  useless,  they  told  my  hus- 
band that  their  business  was  about  poor  Chapado, 
whose  life  they  were  trying  to  save.  My  husband 
came  to  me,  saying  : 

"  Do  you  know  there  is  a  man  condemned  to  death 
to-morrow  ? " 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  these  people  think  his  life  is  in  your  hands." 

I  changed  color,  and  in  much  agitation  I  asked 
him  if  he  was  in  earnest. 

"Quite,"  he  said.  "A  deputation  came  to  tell  me 
so  just  now.  It  will  return  in  a  few  minutes.  The 
unfortunate  soldier  is  an  excellent  youth ;  he  can 
point  to  a  career  of  eleven  years  of  irreproachable 
conduct  in  his  favor.  He  was  the  victim  of  a  sudden 
fit  of  passion,  for  his  sergeant,  who  hated  him,  struck 
him  unjustly  in  the  presence  of  his  companions. 
Chapado  only  put  his  hand  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword, 
but  that  was  enough  for  him  to  be  condemned  to 
death.  The  life  of  this  man  depends  on  the  Queen. 
They  say  that  she  is  very  fond  of  you,  and  if  you  ask 
her  to  grant  you  his  life,  she  will  not  refuse,  although 
she  has  already  declined  to  see  a  deputation  of 
students." 


62  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

"The  Queen  will  think  me  a  mad-woman  if  I  make 
any  such  request ! "  I  answered  in  the  greatest  dis- 
may. "  How  should  I  be  any  more  successful  than 
those  who  have  already  supplicated  in  vain  ?  No,  I 
should  never  dare  !  never." 

Just  then  the  friends  of  the  condemned  man 
returned,  and  repeated  all  that  I  already  knew.  I 
was  overcome,  and  could  not  say  a  single  word,  so 
great  was  my  agitation  at  the  idea  that  they  were 
depending  on  my  intercession.  At  last,  however,  I 
promised  to  try.  But  then,  suddenly  I  found  myself 
face  to  face  with  a  difficulty.  General  Narvaez,  Duke 
of  Valencia,  and  President  of  the  Council  of  Minis- 
ters, was  generally  hated  for  his  excessive  severity 
and  harshness,  and  in  consequence  of  this  I  was 
advised  to  make  my  application  direct  to  the  Queen, 
without  any  intermediary. 

"No,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  acquainted  with  the 
General,  and  have  found  him  to  be  a  frank,  amiable, 
true,  and  distinguished  man ;  I  shall  address  myself 
directly  to  him  in  the  first  instance,  as  I  should  not 
take  such  a  step  without  first  informing  him.  I  have 
always  striven  to  keep  the  straight  path,  and  have 
found  that  it  answers." 

"But  you  will  throw  away  the  life  of  this  poor 
creature,"  they  urged. 

"  Well,  is  he  not  already  lost  ?  The  worst  that  can 
happen  will  be  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  save  him. 
Is  not  that  the  truth }  Leave  me  to  follow  my 
own  instinct."  And  I  dismissed  them ;  and  they 
left  me,  shrugging  their  shoulders  and  shaking  their 
heads,  and  perfectly  confident  of  my  ill-success. 


MV  FIRST   TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  63 

Fortunately,  the  President  of  the  Council  was  in 
the  theatre.  I  sent  to  ask  him  to  honor  me  with  his 
company  for  a  few  minutes.  Narvaez,  who  was 
always  courteous,  did  not  keep  me  waiting.  He 
came,  attended  by  his  aid-de-camp,  but  I  begged  the 
latter  to  stop  outside  with  my  husband,  while  I  invited 
the  General  into  my  dressing-room.  I  was  alone 
with  him.  My  voice,  which  betrayed  the  emotion 
under  which  I  was  suffering,  my  whole  appearance, 
struck  the  Duke. 

"General,"  I  began,  "you  have  often  told  me  that 
so  great  is  the  admiration  you  honor  me  with,  that 
you  would  scarcely  refuse  me  anything.  Pardon! 
pardon,  then,  for  this  poor  soldier.  I  am  a  stranger 
in  Madrid,  but,  from  the  interest  taken  in  this  young 
man  by  the  inhabitants,  I  am  sure  he  merits  it.  I 
was  advised  to  go  direct  to  the  Queen  with  my  peti- 
tion without  troubling  you.  I  am  aware  that  by 
your  well-proved  fidelity  to  her  person,  and  by  your 
wise  counsels,  which  have  averted  so  many  dangers 
from  the  State,  you  have  won  Her  Majesty's  special 
esteem  and  regard ;  and  I  am  convinced  that  a  few 
efBcacious  words  from  you  would  do  more  than 
anything  to  make  her  listen  to  my  petition." 

"My  good  lady,"  replied  the  General,  "it  is  im- 
possible. I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  necessary  to  give  an 
example.  Our  revolutions  always  begin  with  the 
army ;  a  similar  thing  occurred  a  short  time  ago,  you 
see  the  result  of  it.  The  entire  municipality  besieged 
the  Queen  just  now  to  ask  the  same  favor,  and  I 
advised  her  to  be  firm  in   not  conceding  it.     The 


64  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

discipline  is  slackened,  clemency  in  this  case  would 
be  dangerous.     We  must  give  an  example." 

But  I  did  not  lose  heart ;  I  persisted  in  my  request 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  which  gives  such  eloquence 
to  speech.  The  General  began  to  yield  ;  I  recom- 
menced my  attacks.  An  internal  conflict  was  visible 
on  his  face.  My  tears  accomplished  the  victory, 
and,  taking  my  hand:  "Ah!  Madame,"  he  said, 
"  how  can  I  resist  your  entreaties !  If  the  Queen 
consents,  I  bow  to  her  decision.  Now  listen  :  Ask 
an  audience  of  Her  Majesty,  which  will  be  immedi- 
ately granted.  You  will  be  received  between  the 
'acts.  Throw  yourself  at  her  knees,  and  plead  the 
cause  of  this  wretched  man  with  the  eloquence  with 
which  you  have  pleaded  it  with  me.  The  Queen 
likes  you.  She  will  be  perplexed — she  will  answer 
that  the  President  of  the  Council  would  not  agree  to 
it  Then  let  me  be  called ;  I  will  hasten  to  obey 
the  summons  ;  and — you  may  hope." 

These  words  so  overjoyed  me  that  I  could  not 
control  myself  sufficiently  to  reply.  I  could  only 
wring  his  hand,  and  set  myself  to  follow  his  advice. 

The  General  had  hardly  left  me  before  my  friends 
crowded  round  me  full  of  questions.  "What  has 
he  said  ?     Has  he  consented  ?     Has  he  refused  .''  " 

"Gently,  gently,"  I  cried,  "for  pity's  sake,  leave 
me,  leave  me.  I  can  tell  you  nothing;  you  must 
wait." 

Immediately  after  the  first  act  the  Queen  granted 
me  the  desired  audience,  and,  accompanied  by  one 
of  my  managers,  Signor  Barbieri,  a  distinguished 
composer,    I    repaired    to   the   Royal    box.     I   was 


MY  FIRST  TOUR   IN  EUROPE.  65 

begged  to  wait  a  few  minutes  in  the  ante-chamber 
that  led  to  it.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  confused  murmur 
of  voices,  of  weeping,  An  officer  of  the  Royal 
household,  enemy  of  Narvaez,  had  made  use  of  his 
position  at  Court  to  introduce  Chapado's  sister  into 
the  Royal  box  without  previously  informing  the 
Queen,  and  it  was  her  sobs  and  cries  we  heard  im- 
ploring pardon.  The  door  opened,  the  poor  suppliant 
was  carried  out  fainting.  Narvaez,  not  understand- 
ing anything  of  the  delay  of  his  expected  summons 
to  the  Royal  box,  just  entered  the  waiting-room  at 
the  moment  they  brought  me  into  Her  Majesty's 
presence.  I  found  her  lying  on  a  sofa  hardly  recov- 
ered from  the  emotion  she  had  just  experienced  in 
her  delicate  condition.  It  was  just  a  few  weeks 
before  the  birth  of  Alphonso  XII.  The  ministers 
were  round  her. 

"  How  happy  I  am  to  see  you,  dear  Madame  !  I 
was  greatly  in  need  of  changing  the  sad  current  of 
my  thoughts,"  she  said  to  me  holding  out  her  hand 
graciously.  I  kissed  her  hand,  and,  without  hesitat- 
ing an  instant,  I  threw  myself  at  her  feet,  crying 
"  Pardon,  pardon,  Madame,  for  Chapado !  Let  your 
Majesty  be  touched  by  my  supplication,  and  pardon 
a  faithful  subject  led  away  in  a  moment  of  forgetful- 
ness  by  a  punishment  he  considered  an  insult.  He 
is  a  good  soldier  who  will  die  for  your  Majesty.  If 
my  poor  merits  have  availed  to  excite  your  Majesty's 
interest  and  favor,  grant  me  this  petition,  which  I 
make  with  uplifted  hands." 

"  Calm  yourself,  Madame,"  said  the  Queen,  with- 
out being  able  to  dissemble  her  emotion.  "  I  would 
5 


66  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

like  to  pardon  him — but  the  President  of  the  Council 
assures  me  that " 

Forgetting  all  etiquette,  and  without  heeding  that 
I  was  interrupting  Her  Majesty,  I  exclaimed  : 

"  Only  deign  to  give  utterance  once  more  to  your 
clement  intentions,  and  the  Marshal,  whose  humane 
sentiments  I  am  acquainted  with,  will  not  persist  in 
his  severity! " 

Upon  this  Narvaez,  who  had  followed  me,  bowed 
before  his  Sovereign  without  a  word.  The  Queen, 
then  pressing  my  hand,  raised  me  to  my  feet,  saying : 

"Yes,  yes,  we  will  grant  your  petition." 

Hearing  the  noise  by  which  the  audience  had 
begun  to  express  their  displeasure  at  the  long  delay 
between  the  acts,  I  hastened  to  take  my  leave  of  Her 
Majesty,  with  a  heart  overflowing  with  contentment. 

"  Ah  !  what  two  different  tragedies  are  being  played 
to-night,"  she  said  to  me;  then,  desiring  a  pen  to  be 
brought,  she  signed  the  necessary  pardon,  and  an 
Adjutant  ran  at  once  to  communicate  the  news  to 
the  poor  penitent,  who  was  already  receiving  the  last 
ministrations  of  his  Church. 

The  news  having  spread  of  my  intercession  with 
the  Sovereign,  a  breathless  crowd  awaited  me  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  down  which  I  flew  rather  than  ran, 
crying,  "  He  is  pardoned  !  he  is  pardoned  !  "  When 
I  reappeared  upon  the  stage  I  was  greeted  with  a 
burst  of  acclamation  and  applause!  In  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  moment  the  name  of  the  Queen  was 
confounded  with  my  own.  I  intimated  by  my  ges- 
tures that  it  was  she  alone  who  deserved  their  thanks  ; 


MY  FIRST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  6/ 

while  the  Queen,  graciously  pointing  to  me,  cried 
from  her  box : 

"  No  !  no  !  it  is  she,  it  is  she  !  " 

In  a  word,  I  owe  to  Isabella  II.  one  of  the  most 
memorable  evenings  of  my  life ;  and  the  pen  used  to 
sign  the  pardon  of  a  brave  and  honest  man,  which 
was  given  to  me  by  Her  Majesty,  will  be  always 
treasured  by  my  children  as  a  token  of  the  great  joy 
their  mother  then  experienced. 

But,  although  the  life  of  this  soldier  had  been 
granted  me,  yet,  in  order  not  entirely  to  violate 
military  law,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  undergo 
punishment.  He  was  therefore  condemned  to  im- 
prisonment for  life  at  Alcala.  The  sentence  was 
severe,  but  it  was  a  mere  nothing  to  the  loss  of  life. 
Notwitlistanding,  when  the  Prince  of  Asturias  was 
born,  I  implored  a  commutation  of  the  penalty  and 
obtained  it ;  his  term  of  detention  was  shortened  to 
six  years. 

It  was  during  one  of  my  later  visits  to  Madrid 
that  I  desired  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  this 
unfortunate  man  ;  for  the  letters  he  had  written  to 
me,  without  having  ever  seen  me,  revealed  a  man  of 
excellent  heart,  full  of  honor  and  the  liveliest  grati- 
tude. I  asked  permission  to  visit  him  in  his  prison, 
which  was  a  short  distance  from  Madrid.  This  the 
Governor  readily  accorded  to  me. 

When  I  arrived  there,  accompanied  by  my  husband 
and  one  of  my  old  friends,  I  was  ushered  into  a 
room  which  served  as  a  visitors'  parlor.  Presently 
Nicholas  Chapado  made  his  appearance,  dressed  in 
convict  garb.     He  stood  with  his  head  bent  down, 


68  ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 

grasping  his  cap  convulsively  in  his  hands.  But  so 
great  was  his  emotion  that  at  first  he  was  not  able  to 
speak.  He  could  only  throw  himself  at  my  feet,  and 
kiss  my  garments  in  a  transport  of  joy. 

Every  one  present  was  touched.  I  cannot  repeat 
all  the  expressions  of  gratitude  he  at  last  used 
towards  me,  and  which  stirred  me  to  my  heart.  I 
learnt  afterwards  that  his  irreproachable  conduct  had 
gained  him  the  esteem  of  his  superiors  as  well  as  of 
his  companions  in  misfortune  ;  that,  being  promoted 
to  superintend  a  gang  of  laborers,  he  won  their  affec- 
tion and  secured  their  obedience,  and  that  the 
sergeant,  who  had  been  the  cause  of  his  misfortune, 
having  fallen  dangerously  ill  and  being  at  the  point 
of  death,  had  sent  for  him  to  ask  his  pardon  for  the 
great  injustice  he  had  done  him — a  pardon  which 
Chapado  had  not  hesitated  a  moment  to  grant. 

I  promised  to  put  in  motion  ever}'  means  I  could 
think  of  to  secure  his  immediate  and  complete  liber- 
ation. As  soon  as  the  news  of  my  visit  to  this  place 
of  punishment  spread,  all  its  occupants  were  eager  to 
see  me,  and  when  I  descended  the  staircase,  with  the 
Governor  on  one  side  and  Chapado  on  the  other, 
they  knelt  while  I  passed,  respectfully  uncovering 
their  heads.  I  cannot  express  the  profound  emotion 
which  their  presence  caused  me,  or  tell  fully  how  this 
moving  scene  made  my  eyes  fill  with  tears. 

Having  finally  obtained  Chapado's  full  pardon, 
every  time  that  I  revisited  Madrid  he  would  hasten 
to  see  me ;  and  when  I  furnished  him  with  means  to 
attend  my  performances,  I  could  not  wish  for  a  more 
energetic    claqueur.     Between   the    acts,    and    even 


MY  FIRST  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.  69 

above  the  applause  of  the  public,  he  could  be  heard, 
justifying  his  transports  of  delight  by  saying :  "  But 
don't  you  remember  that  she  saved  my  life !  that  I 
was  already  in  the  chapel  receiving  the  last  sacra- 
ments of  the  Church !  That  it  was  she  asked  and 
obtained  my  pardon  from  Queen  Isabella!  That 
I  love  her  more  than  a  mother!  That  I  would 
gladly  give  my  life  for  her  ! "  and  he  would  end 
these  fervent  expressions  of  gratitude  by  again  clap- 
ping his  hands  frantically,  and  crying,  "  Long  live 
Ristori !  long  live  Ristori !  "  at  the  top  of  his  voice 
until  the  people  round  him  were  inclined  to  think 
he  must  be  mad. 

All  the  letters  I  received  from  him  began  with 
these  words,  "J//  Madre  guarida."  They  are  of  a 
remarkable  style,  as  written  by  a  common  soldier, 
and  all  of  almost  Oriental  imagery.  Chapado  at 
present  keeps  a  fruit-shop  in  Madrid. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LONG  TOUR  IN  EUROPE,  AND    FIRST  VISIT  TO  AMERICA. 

After  having  visited  Vienna,  Pesth,  and  Italy,  in 
April  of  the  same  year,  I  returned  to  Paris.  Each 
time  I  reappeared  there,  it  was  my  study  to  provide 
some  new  work  for  presentation  to  my  intelligent 
French  audience.  During  the  preceding  year,  my 
friend  Montanelli,  a  man  full  of  talent,  who  passed 
his  life  modestly  in  exile  because  of  the  prominent 
part  he  had  taken  in  the  political  affairs  of  our  coun- 
try, in  order  to  secure  her  freedom,  had  proposed  to 
write  me  a  tragedy  in  three  acts,  on  a  most  thrilling 
subject,  taken  from  Plutarch,  under  the  name  of 
Camnia.  The  plot  was  somewhat  as  follows  :  A 
priestess  of  Diana,  famous  for  her  beauty,  had  mar- 
ried the  Tetrarch  Sinato.  Sinoro^  prince  of  Galatea, 
caused  Sinato  to  die  by  treachery,  in  order  that  he 
might  espouse  his  widow,  of  whom  he  was  much 
enamoured  Camma  having  discovered  him  to  be 
the  assassin,  feigned  to  surrender  herself  to  his 
wishes,  and  went  with  him  to  the  Temple  to  celebrate 
the  marriage  rites.  These  concluded  by  the  bride 
and  bridegroom  drinking  successively  out  of  the 
same  cup. 

As  priestesS;  it  was  Gamma's  duty  to  prepare  the 
nuptial  draught,  and  she  contrived  to  mix  poison 
with  it. 

(70) 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     71 

The  first  to  put  it  to  his  lips  was  the  unsuspicious 
Sinoro,  who  died  in  terrible  agony  from  spasms 
induced  by  the  poison  after  the  revelation  by  Camma 
of  his  premeditated  guilt.  Indifferent  to  life,  Camma 
also  drank,  and  expired  rejoicing,  according  to  her 
religion,  in  the  prospect  of  a  speedy  reunion  with  her 
beloved  Sinato  in  the  Elysian  fields. 

Apropos  of  her  death,  my  friend  sent  me  his  work 
piece  by  piece,  as  it  was  finished,  in  order  to  have 
my  opinion  upon  it.  I  found  that  the  death  scene 
was  too  prolonged ;  that  he  made  me  talk  too  much. 
Full  of  this  idea,  I  wanted  to  communicate  it  to 
Montenelli  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  I  therefore 
sent  him  a  telegram,  which  ran  as  follows  : 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  die,  and  that 
in  the  presence  of  the  corpse  of  the  victim  with 
whom  I  have  divided  the  poison  I  ought  not  to  go  on 
talking  for  ever." 

Any  one  can  imagine  how  such  a  telegram,  address- 
ed to  a  person  of  note  in  connection  with  the  political 
events  of  the  day,  and  necessarily  under  espionage, 
would  amaze  the  telegraph  clerk,  who  at  once  sent 
it  to  the  Ministry ;  and  what  a  ridiculous  figure  he 
would  make  afterwards  ! 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  23d  April,  1857,  that 
I  made  my  first  appearance  in  this  traged}',  which 
obtained  a  great  success. 

In  the  year  1858  I  again  went  to  France,  England, 
Austria,  Germany,  and  Italy.  In  June,  1859,  I  signed 
a  contract  with  the  principal  theatres  of  Holland,  and 
began  my  performances  at  Amsterdam  on  the  21st. 

As   I  was  aware  that  the  Dutch  were   reputed  a 


72  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

phlegmatic  people,  not  easily  roused,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect a  very  warm  welcome.  What,  then,  was  my 
amazement  to  see  the  frigidity  of  my  audience  melt 
like  snow  under  a  summer  sun,  and  to  be  received  by 
them  with  an  enthusiasm  equal  to  that  of  any  south- 
ern nation.  It  is  such  unexpected  and  spontaneous 
demonstrations  which  stimulate  the  actress,  and  give 
an  impetus  to  art.  And  my  surprise  had  no  limits 
when  I  heard  that  it  was  intended  to  organize  a  fete 
in  my  honor,  which  the  newspapers,  in  speaking  of 
it  beforehand,  called  "  an  Art  Festival." 

More  than  twenty  thousand  people  of  all  classes 
took  part  in  the  solemnity.  There  was  a  great  num- 
ber of  operative,  artistic,  and  learned  associations 
present,  all  preceded  by  their  respective  banners. 
About  9  o'clock  one  evening  this  enormous  crowd 
began  to  defile  under  my  windows,  calling  loudly  for 
me.  They  had  thousands  of  torches  and  Bengal  fires, 
combining  the  Dutch  and  Italian  colors.  It  was  a 
scene  of  real  enchantment.  But  the  crowding  and 
pushing  were  not  without  serious  consequences ; 
several  persons  were  precipitated  into  the  canals,  but 
happily,  were  rescued.  In  short,  the  spectacle  can 
be  more  easily  imagined  than  described.  In  order 
to  give  some  idea  of  it,  I  will  only  say  that  I  was  told 
the  King  make  this  remark  about  it. 

"  It  is  too  little  for  a  revolution,  and  too  much  for 
a  demonstration." 

Leaving  Amsterdam,  I  proceeded  to  make  a  tour 
of  this  industrious  country,  visiting  its  principal 
cities,  and  receiving  everywhere  the  most  cordial  and 
flattering  welcome.     At  the  Hague  I  was  the  object 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     73 

of  the  kindest  attentions,  bestowed  on  me  by  the  late 
Queen  Sophia,  that  cultivated  patroness  of  the  arts. 
She  continued  her  manifestations  of  interest  in  me 
until  her  death,  and  gave  me  repeated  proofs  of  it 
every  time  I  met  with  her.  His  Majesty  the  King 
also  honored  me  several  times  with  his  presence,  and 
the  last  time  I  chanced  to  see  him,  at  Wiesbaden,  he 
proved  the  continuance  of  his  esteem  by  presenting 
me  with  the  grand  gold  medal,  instituted  in  Holland 
to  distinguish  those  who  have  deserved  well  of  art. 
It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  I  eagerly  accepted 
an  offer  to  revisit  Holland.  I  returned  there  the  fol- 
lowing year,  full  of  the  remembrances  which  I  have 
thus  succinctly  narrated.  I  will  not  describe  this 
second  journey,  lest  I  should  repeat  myself,  but  I 
cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  another  monster 
demonstration  which  was  specially  distinguished  both 
in  the  way  it  was  conceived  and  carried  out ;  and,  in 
order  that  its  true  spirit  may  be  better  understood,  I 
delight  to  mention  that  this  period  of  my  artistic  life 
(i860)  coincided  with  the  warlike  feats  of  arms  which 
were  then  attracting  the  notice  of  the  civilized  world 
towards  Italy. 

I  was  to  arrive  at  Utrecht,  and  the  scholarly  youth 
of  that  city,  interested  and  fascinated  by  the  mar- 
vellous prestige  of  Victor  Emmanuel  and  Garibaldi, 
desired  to  welcome  me — an  Italian  artiste— ^\\h.  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  they  saluted  a  new  era  for 
our  country.  The  entire  population,  together  with 
the  youthful  and  intelligent  students  of  that  Univer- 
sity, assembled  to  meet  me  at  the  station.  An  open 
carriage  awaited  me,  drawn  by  four  horses.     It  was  a 


74  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

solemn  progress,  and  to  this  day  I  can  recall  the  sat- 
isfaction I  experienced,  for  I  fully  understood  that 
this  homage  was  not  paid  to  me  personally,  but  rather 
to  Italy. 

The  procession  began  to  move.  My  carriage,  in 
which  I  sat  with  my  family,  was  preceded  by  an 
advance-guard  on  horseback.  Part  of  this  select 
escort  rode  on  either  side  and  followed  me  ;  and  thus 
I  passed  through  the  principal  streets  of  the  city  on 
my  way  to  the  hotel,  amidst  an  immense  crowd. 

I  appeared  on  the  stage  the  same  evening  and 
received  a  perfect  ovation  from  my  audience.  When 
the  play  was  over,  I  wa?  treated  to  one  of  those  torch- 
light serenades  which  are  always  so  picturesque, 
especially  in  northern  countries. 

The  remembrance  of  this  episode,  which  I  should 
have  liked  to  describe  more  minutely,  is  perpetuated 
by  accurate  engravings,  and  I  shall  always  tenderly 
cherish  the  first  copy  that  was  presented  to  me. 

Early  in  October,  1859,  I  went  to  Portugal,  where 
I  divided  a  course  of  twenty-four  performances  be- 
tween Lisbon  and  Oporto.  What  an  enchanting 
country  it  is !  And  what  delightful  recollections  I 
retain  of  my  different  visits  there  !  How  can  my 
futile  pen  ever  express  the  impression  which  I  felt  at 
the  sight  of  that  magnificent  panorama  of  Lisbon 
seen  from  the  sea! 

What  an  appreciative  Maecenas  towards  artists 
was  the  lamented  King  Ferdinand  !  To  me  especially 
he  was  always  courteous  and  kindh',  and  to  this  day 
I  preserve  a  drawing  in  water-colors  he  graciously 
painted  for  my  album.     Every  time  I  revisited  Lisbon 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     75 

I  met  with  the  same  constant  appreciation  from  the 
pubHc,  and  the  same  consideration  from  the  father- 
King.  I  was  last  in  Portugal  in  1S78,  and  was 
delighted  to  receive  the  same  welcome  from  the  pub- 
lic, while  the  Royal  family,  of  which  Pia  of  Savoy  is 
the  principal  ornament,  gave  me  many  manifestations 
of  sympathy. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  a  very  original  perfor- 
mance, of  which  I  retain  a  most  pleasant  remem- 
brance, and  which  I  gave  in  the  February  of  the 
following  year  as  I  passed  through  Coimbra.  As  is 
well  known,  Coimbra  is  the  seat  of  the  principal 
Portuguese  University,  in  which  there  is  a  most 
charming  theatre  destined  for  the  amusement  of  the 
students ;  and  only  on  rare  occasions  actors,  who 
have  obtained  favor  with  the  Lisbon  public,  on  leav- 
ing there,  are  requested  to  appear  upon  the  stage  of 
this  theatre.  The  Head  of  the  University  asked  me 
to  perform  Medea.  I  assented  with  pleasure,  as  I 
was  glad  to  perform  before  an  audience,  the  mascu- 
line character  of  which  had  struck  me  the  year 
before  when  I  passed  through  the  city.  I  had  been 
at  the  same  time  greatly  impressed  by  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  their  costume. 

When  I  was  received  by  the  whole  of  the  students 
with  their  Rectors  and  Professors  at  their  head,  the 
picturesque  costume  of  those  young  men  reminded 
me  of  a  vioyen  age  picture.  The  students  wear  a  sort 
of  tail  coat  buttoned  to  the  throat,  short  trousers, 
and  a  stand-up  white  collar;  on  the  head  a  cap  shaped 
like  the  one  Dante  wears  in  his  portraits.  A  large 
cloak  covers  the  whole  person.     This  dress,  entirely 


^6.  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

of  black,  acts  as  a  kind  of  frame  to  the  face  and 
emphasizes  all  its  coloring ;  and  their  beard;  usually 
long  and  thick,  gives  additional  prominence  to  their 
very  dark  eyes.* 

As  I  have  already  said,  I  was  to  represent  Medea, 
the  inisecn  scene  of  which  presented  some  difficulties 
which  seemed  to  me  hard  to  overcome.  One  of  the 
fundamental  statutes  of  the  University  forbids  the 
appearance  of  any  females  as  supernumeraries.  How, 
then,  was  the  scene  with  the  Canephorae  to  be 
arranged  ?  They  were  indispensable  ;  but,  behold  ! 
the  students  proposed  an  expedient  worthy  of  their 
lively  imaginations.  They  offered  to  array  them- 
selves as  young  maidens  and  enact  the  followers  of 
Creusa.  The  proposal  seemed  to  me  all  the  more 
absurd  because  of  their  thick  beards,  but  there  was 
no  help  for  it ;  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  recommend 
them  to  hide  their  faces  in  the  best  possible  way. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  theatre  for  the  performance, 
I  was  solemnly  received  by  the  Professors  and  stu- 
dents. I  found  that  these  most  polite  young  men 
had  prepared  me  a  dressing  room,  which  for  elegance 
and  good  taste  could  rival  with  the  most  elaborate 
and  perfumed  boudoir. 

But  I  must  pass  on  to  the  performance.  The 
theatre  was  crowded ;  but  I  must  confess  my  mind 

*King  Don  Dinez  founded  at  Lisbon,  in  1288,  a  school  for 
the  study  of  general  science.  This  study  included  faculties  of 
art,  of  canonical  and  civil  law,  and  of  medicine.  In  1290  Pope 
Nicholas  IV.  confirmed  his  foundation.  In  1306  the  King  trans- 
ferred the  College  to  Coimbra,  and  constituted  it  a  University, 
similar  to  those  existing  in  other  parts  of  Europe. 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA,      y/ 

was  preoccupied  with  the  little  arrangement  for  the 
Canephorae  already  mentioned.  I  was  not  at  all 
sure  that  in  its  most  touching  scenes  the  tragedy 
might  not  be  turned  into  a  farce!  Fortunately,  this 
did  not  happen,  though  for  one  instant  I  feared  my 
apprehensions  might  be  well  founded.  In  order  to 
accustom  myself  to  this  most  original  set  of  super- 
numeraries, I  liad  made  them  pass  in  review  before 
me  prior  to  commencing  the  performance.  But, 
alas!  during  one  of  the  most  important  situations  of 
the  first  act,  I  chanced  to  cast  my  eye  on  a  box  close 
to  the  stage.  And  what  did  I  see .?  Some  of  the 
Canephorae,  who  just  before  had  been  sent  by  Creusa 
to  pray  in  the  Temple  of  Diana,  smoking,  with 
the  utmost  indifference,  long  Havana  cigars  1  How 
could  I  help  laughing?  How  could  I  continue  my 
part  ?  Tried  and  experienced  actress  as  I  was,  I 
could  not  withstand  the  effects  of  this  ridiculous 
and  unexpected  sight.  It  was  only  by  the  greatest 
effort  that  I  maintained  my  self-control,  and  I  was 
forced  to  send  and  ask  these  new  kind  of  Canephorae 
to  be  kind  enough  to  withdraw  from  the  front  of  the 
box. 

Of  my  return  to  France  from  Portugal,  through 
Belgium,  I  have  the  most  agreeable  reminiscences  of 
a  visit — unfortunately,  too  short — which  I  made  to 
Hanover.  The  Royal  Family  gave  me  and  my  fam- 
ily innumerable  proofs  of  the  most  affectionate  benev- 
olence. King  George  was  not  only  interesting  for 
the  courageous  patience  with  which  he  bore  his 
blindness  from  the  age  of  sixteen ;  he  was,  besides, 
a  brilliant  talker,  well  versed  in  art.     The  welcome 


y8  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

we  received  in  the  Royal  home,  where  a  beloved 
mother  ruled  with  a  gentle  hand,  holds  a  high  place 
in  my  dearest  recollections. 

From  Hanover  I  went  to  Paris.  This  was  in 
April,  i860.  On  the  evening  of  the  21st,  the  annual 
performance  for  the  benefit  of  Racine's  grand- 
daughter, Mile.  Trochu,  took  place  at  the  Comedie 
Frangaise.  On  this  occasion  they  endeavored  to 
make  the  entertainment  as  varied  as  possible,  and 
thus  it  was  that  it  came  into  the  head  of  my  good 
friend  Legouve  to  try  and  persuade  me,  not  only  to 
appear  in  the  fourth  act  of  Fhcedra,  but  to  recite,  in 
French,  a  poen  he  had  written  for  the  occasion. 
Although  ready  to  take  part  in  Italian  in  that  chari- 
table purpose,  the  reader  may  imagine  I  met  his 
second  proposal  with  a  decided  and  energetic  nega- 
tive ;  for  I  was  fully  aware  of  the  great  difficulties  I 
should  have  to  encounter  both  in  the  pronunciation 
of  a  foreign  language,  the  nervous  excitement  in 
which  I  should  find  myself,  and  the  critical  character 
of  the  important  and  severe  audience  which  fre- 
quented the  Comedie  Fran9aise.  Besides  all  this,  I 
knew  that  in  accordance  with  the  traditional  custom, 
I  should  be  surrounded  by  all  the  players  attached 
to  the  theatre  during  my  French  recitation. 

But  Legouve  was  not  to  be  refused  so  easily.  He 
persuaded  me  to  recite,  then  and  there,  in  a  room  to 
ourselves,  some  verses  which  he  had  been  repeating 
to  me  in  his  excellent  diction.  To  please  him,  I 
consented,  and  Legouve  was  so  well  satisfied  with 
my  attempt  that,  opening  the  door  of  the  room  where 
we  were,  he  cried  laughingly,  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     79 

to  some  friends  who  were  waiting  my  decision  :  '■'■  La 
Patrie  est  sauvee  !    La  Patrie  cs4  saiivee  !  " 

Encouraged  by  these  demonstrations  on  the  part 
of  my  friend,  I  set  myself  in  good  earnest  to  study  his 
composition.  Audaces  fortuna  juvat!  I  may  say 
that  my  difificult  task  was  successfully  accomplished. 

The  republic  received  me  like  une  enfant  gatee  de  la 
Maison  de  Moliere;  but  what  gratified  me  still  more 
was  the  warm  approval  of  my  most  illustrious  com- 
rades for  the  time  being. 

The  following  was  the  programme  for  that  even- 
ing :— 

Athaliah. 

The  Fourth  Act  of  Pkcedra,  performed  by  Mdme.  Ristori. 

A  tribute  to  Racine,  by  M.  Amedee  Roland. 

Verses  by  M.  Legouve,  recited  by  Mdme.  Ristori. 

Les  Paideurs. 

This  successful  experiment  was  the  cause  of  an 
even  more  difficult  and  important  effort. 

Legouve  would  not  relinquish  his  desire  of  seeing 
me  perform  in  French,  and  to  persuade  me  he  em- 
ployed all  his  eloquence.  He  knew  my  deep  grati- 
tude to  the  French,  to  the  Emperor,  and  to  the 
brave  army  who  had  just  made  its  triumphal  entry 
into  Paris  from  the  victorious  fields  of  Magenta  and 
Solferino.  Already  more  than  once  I  had  expressed 
my  wish  to  thank  the  French  public  who  had  opened 
wide  to  me  the  road  of  all  Europe. 

"  Here  you  have  the  opportunity,"  he  said  to  me. 
"The  efforts  you  are  going  to  make  will  be  the 
proof  of  your  feeling.  Nobody  could  interpret  it 
differently." 


So  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

He  gained  his  cause.  Once  again  I  yielded  to  tlie 
force  of  eloquence.  I  considered,  also,  that  I  would 
satisfy  the  lively  desire  of  the  Parisian  public  to  see 
me  in  such  a  difficult  task  as  acting  in  their  language. 
I  consented  to  essay  the  drama,  in  four  acts,  which 
Legouve  had  expressly  composed  for  me,  and  in 
which  I  was  to  figure  as  an  Italian,  who,  thanks  to 
the  considerate  and  delicate  thoughtfulness  of  the 
author,  might  properly  be  expected  to  speak  with  a 
slightly  foreign  accent.  When  I  was  told  the  subject 
I  was  greatly  pleased  with  it. 

Beatrix,  a  young  actress  of  considerable  reputation, 
invited  to  pass  from  Court  to  Court,  and  from  salon 
to  salon,  ends  by  meeting  a  young  prince,  who  falls 
madly  in  love  with  her,  and  determines  to  marry  her 
in  spite  of  the  difference  in  their  position.  She 
secretly  returns  the  prince's  affection,  but,  knowing 
that  such  union  w-ould  be  a  cause  of  much  sorrow  to 
her  lover's  mother,  of  whose  kindness  she  had  been 
frequently  the  object,  would  not  think  of  causing 
unhappiness  in  the  family  of  her  benefactress. 
Beatrix,  not  wishing  to  deceive,  and  not  having  the 
strength  to  resist,  disappeared.  I  liked  this  part,  as 
I  felt  interested  in  the  sufferings  and  the  heroism  of 
this  young  actress,  Beatrix.  I  was  ready  to  set  to 
work  at  once ;  and  to  facilitate  the  execution  of  our 
plan,  Legouve  proposed  to  accompany  me  in  a 
journey  I  was  about  to  make  along  the  Rhine. 

It  was  one  continuous  rehearsal  from  morning  till 
night.  He  availed  himself  of  every  spare  moment 
to  train  me  in  my  part,  and  to  conquer  the  difficulties 
I  had  in  the  pronunciation,  and  displayed  infinite  art 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     8 1 

in  teaching  me  to  soften  down  the  rolling  of  the 
Italian  r,  which  pronounced  close,  as  by  us,  is  such 
an  element  of  expression  and  energy  in  our  lan- 
guage, but  which  is  so  little  accordant  with  the 
smoothness  of  the  French  one.  The  final  syllable 
of  the  imperfect  tense  was  also  another  subject  of 
our  studies.  These  were  quite  finished  by  the  time 
our  peregrinations  were  over,  and  we  were  thus  en- 
abled to  make  arrangements  for  the  performance  of 
Beatrix  at  the  Odeon  in  the  following  March,  On 
leaving  Paris,  I  made  another  tour  in  Holland,  went 
up  the  Rhine,  and  visited  Livonica  and  Courtrand. 

In  December  of  the  same  year  (i860)  I  went  to 
St.  Petersburg,  where  I  returned  in  November  186 1. 
I  was  at  Moscow  in  February  1861  and  February 
1862. 

I  retain  the  most  pleasant  recollections  of  this 
period  of  my  life.  St  Petersburg  with  its  many 
attractions  will  always  remain  impressed  upon  my 
mind,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  welcome  I  received 
from  the  public.  Although  the  Court,  being  in 
mourning  for  a  member  of  the  Imperial  family,  could 
not  attend  the  theatre,  yet  the  Emperor  Alexander  II. 
and  the  Empress  desired  to  see  me,  and  I  was 
therefore  invited  to  spend  an  evening  at  the  Winter 
Palace.  I  recited  the  third  act  of  Mary  Stuart 
before  their  Majesties.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
graciousness  with  which  I  was  received.  But  how 
enthusiastic  the  inhabitants  of  the  north  can  be, 
I  was  better  able  to  judge  from  my  welcome  at 
Moscow. 

It  is  true  that  the  youthful  element  predominates 
6 


82  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

in  that  ancient  city,  attracted  there  by  the  celebrity 
of  its  University.  Here,  as  in  Holland,  the  students 
distinguished  themselves  by  their  enthusiasm,  but  in 
rather  a  different  manner,  and  I  greatly  prize,  and 
carefully  preserve  as  an  object  of  the  highest  moral 
value,  the  present  which  they  made  me  of  a  gold 
bracelet  set  with  amethysts,  symbolizing  the  globe, 
on  which  reposed  a  glittering  star — the  star  of  Art. 

University  students,  even  in  Russia,  are  not  over- 
burdened with  riches  !  For  this  reason,  therefore,  I 
cherish  all  the  more  the  token  of  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion they  offered  me. 

On  the  morning  of  my  departure  the  students,  in 
a  body,  awaited  me  at  the  station.  Hardly  had  I 
arrived  when  they  clustered  round  me,  and,  as  though 
by  enchantment,  I  found  myself  transported  to  my 
compartment !  My  family  followed  me  as  well  as 
they  could.  Up  to  the  moment  of  starting,  my  car- 
riage was  turned  into  a  manufactory  of  autographs. 
Hundreds  of  times  I  had  to  sign  my  name  on  bits  of 
paper,  pocket-books,  fragments  of  paper.  The  whis- 
tle of  the  engine  gave  the  signal  of  departure,  and 
the  train  moved  off  amidst  the  most  clamorous 
demonstrations. 

Such  remembrances  are  most  touching,  and  I  wish 
the  same  heritage  of  heart  and  affection  to  the  act- 
resses who  shall  come  after  me. 

From  Moscow  I  went  to  Paris,  as  I  had  to  begin 
the  rehearsals  of  Beatrix.  Little  by  little,  as  these 
went  on,  the  love  for  my  part  grew  stronger  in  me. 
I  identified  myself  so  thoroughly  with  the  personage 
I  had  seen  created  and  developed  under  my  very 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     83 

eyes,  that  on  the  day  of  the  first  representation — 
March  25th,  1861 — it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were 
simply  appearing  in  one  of  my  customary  parts,  and 
the  thought  of  the  public  did  not  trouble  me  at  all. 
I  felt  quite  sure  that  they  would  appreciate  my  most 
audacious  attempt,  accepting  it  as  a  tribute  of  Italian 
gratitude,  and  this  thought  was  my  salvation.  In- 
deed, I  felt  so  perfectly  sure  of  myself,  and  so  calm, 
that  I  remember  I  replied  with  a  hearty  laugh  to  the 
exhortations  of  my  comrades  who,  just  before  I  pre- 
sented myself  on  the  stage,  entreated  me  to  take 
courage,  to  have  no  fear  I  But  when  I  actually  went 
on,  our  old  adage  recurred  involuntarily  to  my  mind 
— "  It  is  one  thing  to  talk  of  death ;  and  quite  an- 
other thing  to  die." 

However  accustomed  I  was  to  the  public  of  the 
principal  cities  of  Europe,  I  felt  some  dismay  at  the 
sight  of  the  crowd  which  filled  the  Odeon  that  even- 
ing. The  unamimous  applause  with  which  I  was 
greeted  alarmed  rather  than  encouraged  me  !  Think- 
ing how  much  was  expected  of  me,  I  had  to  summon 
all  the  force  of  my  strong  will  to  my  aid,  to  overcome 
that  momentary  hesitation.  But  I  succeeded,  and  I 
repeated  that  part  for  forty  nights.  And  while  on 
this  subject,  I  may  mention  that  Beatrix  met  with  the 
greatest  success  throughout  the  French  provinces,  as 
also  in  Holland  and  other  countries.  Some  years 
later  I  gave  it  again  in  Paris  for  twenty  consecutive 
evenings  at  the  Vaudeville. 

I  travelled  to  Berlin,  for  the  third  time,  in  March 
of  the  same  year  (1862),  performing  for  six  evenings 
in   the  Theatre  Royal.     The  Imperial   family  were 


84  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

prodigal  of  their  affection,  and  the  excellent  Emperor 
William,  then  King  of  Prussia,  crowned  his  favors  by 
conferring  on  me  the  Order  of  Civic  Merit. 

From  Berlin  I  was  invited  to  give  three  perform- 
ances at  the  Grand  Ducal  Theatre  in  Weimar.  On 
this  occasion  I  was  most  kindly  receiv^ed  by  the  Grand 
Duke  and  Grand  Duchess,  and  I  spent  one  evening 
at  Court,  when  I  was  enabled  to  judge  of  the 
culture  of  this  accomplished  Prince,  for  he  then 
repeated  to  me,  from  memor\',  many  passages  of 
Dante,  which  he  had  translated  fluently ;  and  on 
future  occasions  when  I  was  brought  into  contact 
with  him,  I  found  that  he  understood  and  could  speak 
our  language  most  admirably. 

Amid  all  my  pleasant  recollections  of  the  kindness 
I  received  from  the  German  Court,  I  especially  re- 
member that  to  the  King  of  Prussia  I  owe  the  honor 
of  becoming  acquainted  with  Meyerbeer. 

It  was  near  the  King's  birthday,  and  I  was  in 
Weimar  for  a  brief  series  of  representations,  when 
the  Grand  Duke,  who,  as  every  one  knows,  is  brother 
to  the  Queen  Augusta  of  Prussia,  requested  me,  in 
her  name,  to  go  to  Berlin  unknown  to  the  King,  and 
perform  /  Gelosi  Fortimati.  A  beautiful  and  elegant 
little  theatre  was  privately  got  ready  in  one  of  the 
apartments  of  the  Imperial  residence.  The  King 
was  highly  delighted  with  this  affectionate  surprise 
prepared  by  his  Consort.  The  little  play  went  off 
brilliantl}',  and  after  the  performance  supper  was 
served  at  small  tables  scattered  about  the  room.  It 
was  then  that  the  King  presented  Meyerbeer  to  me, 
appointing  him  my  cavalier  for  the  rest  of  the  even- 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     85 

ing.  What  a  recompense  for  the  fatigue  of  my  jour- 
ney!  and  Meyerbeer,  who  was  most  agreeable,  had 
no  difficulty  in  making  his  conversation  interesting  to 
me.  The  next  day  he  came  to  see  me  with  his  two 
daughters,  and  we  spent  a  pleasant  hour,  talking  of 
art  and  of  Italy. 

During  the  remainder  of  1862,  and  up  to  Decem- 
ber 1864,  I  revisited,  several  times,  cities  where  I 
had  already  given  performances,  making  long  stays 
in  my  own  dear  country,  especially  in  Sicily,  whence, 
in  September  1864,  I  embarked  for  Alexandria,  in 
Egypt. 

In  the  land  of  the  Pharaohs  I  had  an  opportunity 
of  judging  how  art  affected  different  nations.  The 
enthusiasm  manifested  for  me  by  the  society  of  Alex- 
andria, the  most  cosmopolitan  of  the  world,  left 
nothing  to  desire.  On  the  evening  of  my  benefit  I 
was  overwhelmed  with  demonstrations  of  esteem  and 
kindness,  especially  from  the  Italian  colony.  In  re- 
sponse to  repeated  invitations,  I  next  went  to  Cairo, 
where  I  appeared  at  a  temporary  theatre,  the  old  one 
having  been  burnt  down. 

The  2d  of  December  of  1864,  saw  me  in  Smyrna. 
The  voyage  was  long  and  most  unfortunate.  We  had 
taken  passage  in  a  steamer  belonging  to  the  Austrian 
Lloyd's,  called  The  Empress.  As  soon  as  we  left 
Alexandria  we  found  the  sea  very  tempestuous,  and 
when  we  neared  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  the  boiler 
was  found  to  be  damaged.  For  forty-eight  hours  we 
lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  wind  and  the  waves.  The 
captain  and  the  officers  vied  with  one  another  in 
bravery.     Our  signals  of  distress,  though  constantly 


86  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

repeated,  were  in  vain,  and  we  suffered  very  much 
ph\^sically  and  mentally.  We  fancied  that  every 
wave  that  beat  against  the  ship  would  be  our  destruc- 
tion ;  but,  by  a  merciful  Providence,  and  thanks  to 
the  immense  efforts  made  by  the  officers,  the  damage 
to  the  machinery  was  repaired  somehow,  and  we 
slowly  returned  to  Alexandria. 

Yet,  exhausted  as  I  was  by  all  I  had  undergone,  I 
felt  obliged  to  re-embark  in  another  vessel  of  the 
same  line — the  Archduchess  Charlotte — a  few  days 
after. 

I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  I  had  a  fierce 
struggle  between  my  inclinations  and  my  duty,  before 
— in  my  condition  of  mental  and  physical  suffering — 
I  could  decide  on  this  step.  But  I  may  say  that 
throughout  my  artistic  life  I  have  always  succeeded, 
at  whatever  cost,  in  fulfilling  my  engagements. 

I  gave  one  performance  of  Medea  at  Smyrna,  on 
my  way  to  Constantinople,  but  at  the  latter  city  I 
was  only  able  to  give  thirty,  partly  in  consequence  of 
the  unfortunate  voyage,  and  partly  because  of  my  great 
desire  to  arrive  quickly  at  Athens.  Yet,  although  my 
stay  at  Constantinople  was  short,  it  is  full  of  pleasing 
remembrances  to  me. 

I  reached  Athens  on  the  19th  of  January  1856.  I 
could  only  give  five  performances.  I  had  hardly  ar- 
rived at  the  Piraeus  than  I  was  already  impatient  to 
visit  the  Acropolis,  and  I  satisfied  this  great  longing 
of  mine  the  day  after  my  first  public  appearance, 
having  for  my  cicerone  the  renowned  archaeologist 
and  diplomatist,  Raugabey,  now  Minister  at  Berlin. 
My  learned  guide  revived  for  me  the  world  of  x'Yncient 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.       8? 

Greece  with  all  its  classic  charms.  What  a  boon  for 
me  to  find  in  these  sublime  marbles  all  the  noble 
attitudes  which  I  had  sought  so  ardently  to  reproduce 
before  the  public.  I  was  in  ecstasy  before  such 
wonders.  Standing  before  the  Caryatides  I  studied 
the  Grecian  drapery  in  order  to  reproduce  at  the 
first  opportunity  every  detail  of  those  wondrous  folds. 
Mr.  Raugabey  had  almost  to  drag  me  away  by  force 
from  that  matchless  bas-relief  of  the  Victoria  Actere, 
the  graceful  attitude  of  which  I  have  still  before  my 
eyes. 

The  Temple  of  Theseus  made  a  profound  impres- 
sion on  me,  as  did  also  the  theatre  of  Bacchus. 
What  enchantment  it  was  to  see  the  dazzling  rays  of 
sunshine  light  up  the  summits  of  those  imposing 
mountains,  Hymethus,  Penteticon,  and  Parnassus, 
which  surround  the  Acropolis.  What  a  panorama ! 
What  magnificent  and  surprising  effects !  How  my 
heart  beat  at  finding  myself  in  the  midst  of  those 
ruins  which  recall  the  history  of  so  many  centuries, 
and  are  such  eloquent  testimony  to  the  truly  beauti- 
ful in  art  which  Greece  gave  to  Rome  ;  or,  I  might 
say,  to  the  entire  world. 

I  tore  myself  away  with  difficulty  from  that  sublime 
contemplation  which  had  absorbed  me,  and  increased 
my  love  of  art.  Alas  !  how  often  art  is  sacrificed  to 
the  necessity  of  the  moment!  and  just  then  I  had  to 
experience  this  hard  truth.  Unfortunately,  a  previ- 
ous agreement  which  I  could  not  break,  rendered  me 
unable  to  comply  with  the  courteous  request  of  King 
George,  who,  seeing  the  enthusiasm  manifested  by 
his  people  (some  of  whom  had  made  incredible  sac- 


88  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

rifices  to  attend  my  performances),  tried  to  induce 
me  to  take  part  in  a  grand  representation  which 
should  revive,  in  the  nineteenth  century^  the  costumes 
and  stage-effects  of  ancient  Greek  tragedy,  as  far  as 
was  consistent  with  the  exigencies  of  the  modern 
theatre.  It  was  to  be  a  daylight  performance  in  the 
theatre  of  Bacchus,  where  all  Greece  would  assemble. 
That  classic  enclosure  should  be  put  into  the  best 
possible  condition  for  the  entertainment  by  the  Athe- 
nian architects. 

How  can  I  describe  my  disappointment  at  having 
to  refuse  this  tempting  proposal  made  me  by  His 
Majesty  ?  For  myself,  I  was  only  too  delighted  at 
the  idea  of  appearing  upon  the  stage  of  that  ancient 
theatre  in  classic  Greece;  of  reviving  for  a  moment 
the  art  of  Sophocles  and  ^schylus  ;  reposing,  in 
spirit,  in  the  majesty  of  Olympus  !  It  would  have 
been  a  memorable  event  in  my  life.  But,  unhappily, 
the  prose  of  that  wretched  contract  overpowered  the 
poetical  enchantment  I  would  fain  have  shared. 

Good-by,  poetry ;  good-by,  dear  Athens ;  good- 
by,  my  amiable  guide.  I  was  bound  to  appear  at  a 
fixed  date  in  Paris,  where  I  was  to  play  at  the  Lyric 
Theatre  in  French,  in  a  drama  by  M.  Legouve,  called 
Les  deux  Reines.  What  could  we  say  to  the  cruel 
play  of  destiny  ?  On  my  return  voyage  we  touched 
at  Messina,  and  there  I  found  a  telegram  from  M. 
Legouve,  informing  me  that,  in  consequence  of  some 
political  complications  with  the  Holy  See,  Napo- 
leon III.  had  prohibited  Les  deux  Reines. 

And  to  think  that  it  was  for  this  contract  that  I 
had  deprived  myself  of  an  unspeakable  pleasure ! 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     89 

We  divided  between  Naples,  Leghorn,  Florence, 
Milan  and  Turin,  the  time  we  were  to  have  spent  in 
Paris. 

I  returned  to  this  metropolis  towards  the  end  of 
April  1865,  in  order  to  fulfil  my  engagement  to  play 
Beatrix  at  the  Vaudeville  !  Just  at  that  time  Florence 
was  solemnly  celebrating  the  sixth  centenary  of 
Dante.  Most  of  the  intellectual  world  had  been 
invited  to  honor  the  divine  poet. 

The  Syndic  was  most  urgent  that  I  should  go  there 
to  contribute,  with  Tommaso  Salvini  and  Ernesto 
Rossi,  in  composing  an  artistic  programme  worthy 
of  the  occasion,  and  also  to  take  part  in  the  grand 
procession  formed  by  representatives  of  Arts  and 
Science,  who,  walking  through  the  city  to  Piazza 
Santa  Croce,  were  to  be  present  at  the  unveiling  of 
the  statue  of  Dante.  I  was  delighted  to  accept  this 
flattering  invitation  ;  to  associate  myself  with  those 
two  masters  in  art  was  for  me  a  fortunate  chance. 
Our  meeting  suggested  the  idea  of  making  us  play 
Francesca  da  Rimini  together  in  the  Cocomero  (now 
Nicolini)  Theatre,  for  a  charity.  Paolo  was  taken 
by  Ernesto  Rossi ;  Salvini  played  Lanciotto,  of  which 
part  he  made  a  surprising  creation.  I  was  Fran- 
cesca. We  vied  with  each  other  in  passion  and  zeal, 
and  new  effects  sprang  forth  as  if  by  enchantment. 
Rossi  showed  well  that  he  belonged  to  that  school 
which  has  no  masters,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word, 
but  which  acts  from  the  impulse  of  a  superior  genius. 
Educated  in  the  precepts  of  Gustavo  Modena  equally 
with  Salvini,  Ernesto  Rossi  could  never  have  become 
a  celebrity  without  a  special  disposition  and  imposing 
talent. 


90 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 


The  evening  was  an  artistic  fete,  and  to  commem- 
orate it  a  marble  tablet  was  placed  in  the  interior  of 
the  theatre.  This  was  an  event  which  I  rejoice  to 
have  taken  part  in,  and  which  I  desire  to  record  in 
order  to  pay  a  fresh  tribute  of  affection  and  esteem 
to  my  two  illustrious  companions. 

After  having  paid  the  honor  due  to  the  great  poet 
and  to  my  country,  I  hastened  to  return  to  Paris  in 
order  to  resume  the  rehearsals  for  Beatrix,  which 
was  given  on  the  22d  of  May,  my  good  Parisian 
public  receiving  me  with  the  same  expression  of 
esteem  as  in  the  past  years.  From  that  epoch  up  to 
the  end  of  July  1866,  I  travelled  to  Italy,  Austria, 
Holland,  France  and  Belgium. 

My  health  was  always  remarkably  good,  although, 
unfortunately,  I  was  never  able  to  accustom  myself 
to  the  sea.  During  my  many  wanderings  I  acquired 
a  robustness  of  constitution  that  nothing  could  shake, 
and  this,  in  its  turn,  developed  in  me  an  untiring 
energy  which  enabled  me  to  guide  and  direct  all  our 
movements  with  the  resolution  and  authority  of  a 
general  at  the  head  of  his  army.  Every  one  obeyed 
me ;  and  this  obedience  I  gained  by  the  exercise  of 
the  strictest  impartiality,  for  I  was  always  ready  to 
censure  or  correct  those  who  failed  to  discharge 
their  proper  obligations,  and  to  bestow  praise  with- 
out distinction  upon  those  who  merited  it,  while  at 
the  same  time  I  treated  all  with  kindness  and  cour- 
teousness. 

As  a  rule,  I  found  the  members  of  my  company 
willing  to  submit  gracefully  to  my  authority;  if  any 
seemed  inclined  to  assert  themselves  too  loudly,  the 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     91 

firmness  of  my  demeanor  speedily  put  them  in  their 
proper  place. 

Everything  relating  to  the  artistic  management 
rested  entirely  in  my  hands,  I  gave  all  orders,  made 
all  arrangements,  and  occupied  myself  with  all  those 
great  and  small  details  which  any  one  who  knows  the 
stage  will  fully  understand,  and  which  are  so  essential 
to  the  success  of  a  performance.  A  special  adminis- 
tration had  charge  of  the  business  department.  But 
I  am  proud  to  say  that  my  husband  was  the  soul  of 
every  enterprise.  Since  I  am  speaking  of  him  my 
heart  inspires  me  to  state  that  he  never  ceased  to 
exercise  over  me,  during  my  whole  career,  a  con- 
stantly benevolent  influence.  It  was  he  who  kept 
up  my  courage  when  I  hesitated  before  the  difficulties 
I  met  with  ;  he  showed  me  the  fame  I  should  acquire, 
and  pointed  out  to  me  the  end  I  was  to  reach ;  facil- 
itating everything  in  the  course  before  me.  Without 
him  I  should  never  have  dared  to  attempt  carrying 
the  banner  of  Italian  Art  round  the  world. 

My  hesitation  at  that  moment  was  excusable,  how- 
ever, because  my  aged  mother's  infirm  health  was 
just  then  preoccupying  me  more  than  anything  else, 
and  I  was  tormented  with  the  idea  that  I  might  lose 
her  during  my  absence.  And  thus  it  was.  She  died 
several  years  afterwards  while  I  was  on  the  way  to 
Rio  de  Janeiro.  Ten  years  before  I  had  also  the 
grief  of  not  being  present  to  close  my  father's  eyes 
in  Florence,  being  at  the  time  at  Wiesbaden. 

But  to  resume  the  thread  of  my  narrative.  I  may 
say  that  I  took  the  greatest  pains  to  make  myself 
noted   as    an   example  of  punctuality.     Throughout 


92  ADELAIDE  RTSTORL 

my  long  journeys,  I  met  with  some  hardships.  If 
any  of  my  party  grew  faint-hearted,  or  feared  to  fol- 
low me,  I  tried  to  spur  them  on  by  my  example,  I 
was  always  the  first  to  encounter  any  difficulties  that 
might  lie  in  the  way.  It  happened  to  me  once,  in 
February  1872,  as  I  was  travelling  between  Moscow 
and  Dunaburg,  to  have  to  cross,  at  night  and  on  foot, 
a  long  bridge  near  Kowna,  which  had  suffered  such 
damage  from  the  severity  of  the  season  that  it  had  to 
be  rebuilt.  When  we  reached  it,  the  workmen  were 
still  busy,  lighted  by  flickering  torches.  The  torrent 
beneath  it,  swollen  by  heavy  rains  and  the  quickly 
melting  snow,  was  frightful  to  look  at,  and  to  add 
to  its  horror,  we  heard  that  that  very  morning, 
an  unfortunate  workman  had  fallen  in  and  been 
drowned. 

When  my  actors  were  told  this,  and  saw  how  unsafe 
was  the  passage  across  the  bridge,  as  it  was  encum- 
bered with  planks  and  beams  of  wood,  they  resolutely 
refused  attempting  to  go  any  farther.  Time  pressed, 
for  the  train  was  waiting  at  the  little  station  upon 
the  opposite  bank.  If  we  remained  there  all  night, 
we  should  have  to  do  without  any  shelter.  I  was 
persuaded,  from  the  representations  made  to  me  by 
the  superintendent  of  the  workmen,  that  there  was 
no  real  danger  if  the  passage  was  undertaken  with 
caution.  So,  merrily  and  with  some  laughter  at  my 
craven-hearted  companions,  I  walked  across  the  long 
bridge,  accompanied  by  my  family,  from  whom,  in- 
deed, I  was  never  divided.  At  this  sight  the  entire 
company,  huddled  together  like  a  flock  of  sheep, 
followed  me  slowly,  stumbling  and  tripping  as  they 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     93 

came  across  the  bridge,  and  I  was  able  to  reach 
Dunaburg  at  the  hour  fixed  for  our  first  perform- 
ance. 

In  the  beginning  of  September  1866,  I  visited,  for 
the  first  time,  the  United  States,  where  I  remained 
until  the  17th  of  May  of  the  following  year.  Great 
was  my  impatience  to  reach  that  country  and  to  be 
the  first  to  carry  my  own  language  into  the  noble 
land  of  Washington,  where,  in  the  midst  of  a  fever- 
ish devotion  to  industry  and  commerce,  the  arts  and 
sciences  still  held  a  prominent  place. 

I  commenced  at  the  Lyric  Theatre  in  New  York, 
on  the  20th  of  September,  with  Medea.  I  could  not 
have  wished  for  a  warmer  welcome  than  that  which 
there  greeted  me. 

From  this  epoch  date  friendships  which  neither 
time  nor  distance  have  cooled,  and,  writing  these 
lines,  I  send  an  affectionate  greeting  to  those  who 
still  remember  me  bej'ond  the  ocean. 

Leaving  New  York,  I  was  summoned  to  all  the 
cities,  large  and  small,  of  the  States.  But  I  shall 
never  attempt  here  descriptions  which  have  been 
written  so  often  by  master  hands.  In  order  not  to 
repeat  myself,  I  pass  over  the  very  warm  receptions  I 
received  everywhere.  The  Americans  were  the  first  to 
introduce  a  most  useful  custom  in  the  department  of 
dramatic  art  which  Europe  was  rather  slow  in  follow- 
ing ;  I  mean  the  weekly  afternoon  performances,  which 
with  us  were  only  exceptions.  It  allowed  women 
and  young  girls  to  be  present  at  the  play  without 
interfering  with  their  duties  and  studies,  or  exposing 
them  to  the  fatigue  of  late  hours. 


94  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

In  North  America  there  are  invariably  two  weekly 
afternoon  performances ;  Saturday  and  Wednesday. 
The  passing  stars  appear  on  those  days  in  a  house 
wholly  filled  by  the  fair  sex.  Their  applause  is  natu- 
rally less  noisy  and  more  modest,  but  the  bravos  are 
always  given  with  much  intelligence  and  at  the  right 
moment.  The  young  girls  came  in  such  crowds  to 
my  performances  that  I  was  often  obliged  to  order 
the  removal  of  the  wings  to  make  room  for  them 
even  on  the  stage.  I  tried  to  measure  my  play  in 
such  a  manner  that  my  neighbors  should  not  lose  a 
single  movement.  My  efforts  were  recompensed  by 
the  grateful  expression  on  those  young  and  pretty 
faces. 

Giacometti's  Elizabeth  was  a  particular  favorite 
with  the  Americans,  from  its  fine  scenic  effects,  and 
they  came  in  crowds  whenever  I  played  it. 

I  visited  an  immense  number  of  cities,  but  it  would 
detain  me  too  long  to  enumerate  their  names  or  des- 
cribe them.  The  result  was  far  beyond  my  expecta- 
tions. I  can  say  that  I  left  hardly  any  city  or  town 
of  the  United  States  unvisited. 

We  left  the  United  States,  as  I  have  said,  in  May, 
and  returned  thither  on  the  i8th  of  October  in  the 
same  year,  beginning  a  new  series  of  performances. 
My  second  journey  across  the  Atlantic,  in  the 
steamer  Europa,  commenced  in  such  stormy  weather, 
that,  when  we  had  been  a  few  days  out,  one  of  the 
deck  stewards  was  swept  overboard  by  a  huge  wave, 
and  drowned.  This  unfortunate  man  had  a  wife  and 
children  at  Marseilles,  who  were  dependent  on  his 
earnings.     It  was  a  case  that  excited  the  sympathy 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.     95 

of  all  the  passengers,  and  a  project  was  immediately 
set  on  foot  to  give  an  entertainment  on  behalf  of  the 
bereaved  family.  The  Captain  lent  himself  to  it  with 
all  eagerness,  and  spared  no  pains  to  transform  the 
dining-room  into  an  elegant  little  theatre.  The  stage 
was  marked  off  by  a  row  of  lights,  which  represented 
foot-lights. 

I  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  myself  in  company 
with  the  renowned  singer,  Madame  La  Grange,  and, 
as  I  had  my  own  troupe  with  me,  we  were  able  to 
provide  an  attractive  programme.  La  Grange  was  to 
sing  three  of  her  favorite  pieces ;  and  I  had  to  per- 
form the  scene  between  Mary  Stuart  and  Elizabeth, 
in  Scribe's  tragedy:  besides,  a  French  gentleman 
offered  to  contribute  with  some  singing. 

By  this  time  the  weather  had  somewhat  moderated, 
so  that  we  hoped  that  the  next  evening,  which  was 
fixed  for  the  entertainment,  would  be  sufficiently  fine 
for  us  not  to  suffer  any  inconvenience.  But  our 
hopes  were  not  realized,  and  on  the  following  morn- 
ing the  waves  began  to  rise,  and  the  wind  increased 
in  strength.  The  ship  soon  began  to  jump  about  and 
our  faces  lengthened  considerably.  I  commenced  to 
ask  myself  how  I  was  going  to  act  in  this  state  of 
things.  Towards  evening,  however,  they  mended  a 
little,  so  that  it  was  possible  to  begin  at  the  hour  fixed 
upon.  I  came  upon  the  stage  determined  to  triumph 
over  the  elements  !  In  the  best  of  spirits  I  began 
the  beautiful  invocation  of  Mary  Stuart  to  the 
clouds ;  but  the  real  clouds,  alas !  began  to  gather 
once  more  in  the  sky,  and  the  sea  to  rise  I  At  the 
entrance  of  Elizabeth,  I  became  quite  giddy — I  stag- 


96  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

gered — my  throat  grew  dry  and  parched — I  felt  the 
breaking  out  of  the  cold  perspiration  that  heralds  sea- 
sickness. I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing !  The 
actor  who  was  playing  the  part  of  Talbot,  fearing  that 
I  should  never  be  able  to  hold  out,  ran  for  a  smell- 
ing-bottle, and  made  me  smell  it  at  every  opportunity. 
By  means  of  this  expedient  I  managed  to  reach 
the  end  of  the  scene,  being  upheld  by  Anna  when- 
ever I  seemed  likely  to  fall !  As  soon  as  I  was  free, 
I  ran  at  once  on  deck,  and  threw  myself  into  the  arm- 
chair. There  I  awaited  Mdme.  La  Grange,  my  com- 
panion in  misfortune,  to  hear  how  she  had  managed 
to  get  through  her  part. 

But  from  the  place  where  I  had  taken  shelter,  I 
could  hear  the  audience  shouting  with  laughter  at  that 
poor  French  amateur,  singing,  with  sepulchral  voice, 
"  Richard  est  mart,  Richard  est  morty 

This  fete  of  charity  had  a  still  more  amusing  epi- 
sode next  day.  A  passenger  who  had  complained 
energetically  to  the  Captain  for  abandoning  the  care 
of  the  ship  while  that  entertainment  was  going  on  in 
the  salon,  frightened  at  the  always  increasing  waves, 
put  on  his  safety  belt  and  passed  the  whole  night 
on  deck.  This  most  courageous  gentleman  shot  furi- 
ous glances  at  us,  innocent  causes  of  his  imaginary 
danger. 

In  my  second  visit  to  the  United  States  I  made  an 
excursion  to  Havana,  in  January  1868.  This  ter- 
restrial paradise  remains  in  my  memory  as  an  enchant- 
ing picture.  But  here,  also,  I  am  forestalled  by  so 
many  painters  of  this  tropical  nature,  and  of  this  life 
so  bewitchins:  in   its  Oriental  indolence,  that  I  dare 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.    97 

not  endeavor  to  describe  them.  Once  more  a  hearty 
greeting  to  the  Havannese,  who  filled  our  theatre 
every  evening,  and  never  ceased  to  applaud  me. 

On  my  benefit  evening  with  Camma,  and  a  little 
comedy,  Cid  che place  alia  pn?na  attrlce,  where,  at  one 
point,  disguised  as  Jeanne  d'Arc,  I  recited  the  well- 
known  adieux  of  Schiller,  admirably  translated  by 
our  lamented  Maffei,  the  rush  for  places  was  enor- 
mous, all  the  boxes  and  numbered  places  having 
been  secured  many  days  previously.  From  2  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  the  Cazuela,  which  is  the  gallery 
reserved  for  ladies,  was  quite  filled  ;  and  so  afraid 
were  they  of  not  finding  room,  that  they  had  their 
dinner  served  there. 

On  my  return  to  the  hotel  an  attempt  was  made  to 
take  the  horses  from  my  carriage,  but  this  I  strenu- 
ously opposed.  I  could  not,  however,  prevent  many 
young  men  from  perching  themselves  on  the  axle  of 
the  wheels,  and  on  the  spokes,  at  the  risk  of  falling 
under  them,  and  climbing  beside  the  coachman.  I 
was  literally  buried  under  bouquets !  I  am  often 
haunted  by  the  magic  spectacle  of  this  tropical  night 
when,  beneath  a  sky  sparkling  with  stars,  I  passed 
like  a  queen,  in  the  midst  of  this  enthusiastic  crowd, 
between  two  rows  of  vola?iies*  from  which  the  ele- 
gant occupants  in  ball-dresses  kissed  their  hands  to 
me,  while  the  negro  coachmen  could  scarcely  hold 
their  horses,  frightened  by  the  flaming  torches.  Of 
the  thousand  and  one  nights  which  I  have  passed  d 
la  belle  etoile,  in  returning  from  the  theatres,  that  was 
the  most  memorable. 

7  *  A  kind  of  open  carriage. 


98  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TORI. 

After  I  left  the  United  States,  in  September  1868, 
I  make  another  tour  of  nine  months  in  Italy.  We 
performed  the  very  popular  drama  of  Paolo  Giacom- 
etti — Marie  Antoinette — which  had  been  so  well  re- 
ceived in  the  United  States,  but  not  before  given  in 
Italy.  My  liking  for  the  subject,  and  my  old  friend- 
ship for  the  author,  made  me  take  a  singular  interest 
in  its  execution.  I  bestowed  as  much  care  on  the 
style  of  the  costumes  as  on  the  accessories.  It  was 
given  at  the  Theatre  Brunetti  at  Bologna. 

My  love  of  truth  in  art  led  me  to  visit  the  cell  in 
the  conciergerie,  which  was  the  last  abode  of  the 
unhappy  Queen,  at  the  time  when  I  was  studying 
this  part.  I  vividly  recollect  the  sad  impression  it 
produced  upon  me,  so  much  that  I  could  with  my 
imagination  see  the  resigned  martyr,  and  feel  myself 
a  partaker  of  her  terrible  sufferings. 

I  had  wished  to  produce  this  tragedy  in  Italy 
before  an  intelligent  public,  capable  of  appreciating 
its  grand  situations.  Circumstances  having  brought 
me  to  Bologna,  for  twelve  performances,  I  settled  to 
put  Marie  Antoinette  on  the  stage  on  the  evening  of 
the  9th  of  November. 

Many  difficulties  had  to  be  overcome  before  I 
could  obtain  the  consent  of  the  authorities  to  its 
representation.  When  they  were  informed  of  the 
subject,  they  suspected,  before  they  read  it,  that  the 
tragedy  would  prove  a  most  decided  apotheosis  of 
democracy.  Then  the  republician  party,  persuaded 
that  they  would  find  in  it  a  glorification  of  the  French 
Republic,  and  suspicious  of  the  attitude  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, made  a  great  noise  about  its  production ; 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA,     gg 

but  finally,  thanks  to  the  intervention  of  influential 
personages,  who  were  convinced  that  I  should  never 
sanction  anything  to  disturb  public  order,  the  inter- 
dict upon  it  was  revoked. 

All  in  good  time  came  the  longed-for  evening, 
November  the  3d.  The  number  of  guards  was  in- 
creased, and  a  piquet  of  cavalry  added — precautions 
exaggerated,  perhaps. 

The  public  assembled  in  crowds ;  and,  as  the  ac- 
tion of  the  piece  developed  itself,  the  ultra-Liberals 
discovered  that  there  was  nothing  in  favor  of  the 
Revolution,  and  of  their  Radical  opinions,  and  that, 
on  the  contrary,  it  utterly  condemned  that  crime.  It 
was,  instead,  the  desperate  case  of  this  unfortunate 
royal  family  that  impressed  the  greater  part  of  the 
audience,  and  excited  its  sympathy  even  to  tears. 
But  this  did  not  please  the  Radical  fraction  of  it. 
At  the  close  of  the  second  act  there  were  very  decid- 
ed expressions  of  disapproval,  and  these  increased 
so  greatly  in  the  third  act  as  entirely  to  drown  the 
piece. 

The  Questor,  who  was  in  the  stage  box,  grew  pale 
with  alarm,  fearing  the  outburst  of  some  disorder. 
Poor  Giacometti  wiped  his  forehead,  making  despair- 
ing signs  from  the  wings  !  On  my  part,  impatient  at 
the  difificulties  to  be  overcome,  and  indignant  to  see 
that  a  small  minority  tried  to  substitute  their  own 
evil  passions  for  the  tender  emotions  which  up  to  that 
time  had  filled  the  greater  number  of  the  audience, 
I  drew  near  the  wing  where  the  author  was  leaning 
ready  to  faint.  "  Come  speak  to  the  public ;  you 
are  a  well-known  Liberal.     They  will  listen  to  you  !  " 


100  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

But  Giacometti  dared  not.  The  situation  grew  more 
precarious.  It  was  necessary  for  us  to  take  some 
decisive  step.  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer. 
Seized  by  one  of  my  impulses  of  impatience  I  rose 
resolutely,  advanced  to  the  footlights,  and  signed  that 
I  wished  to  speak.  In  an  instant  general  silence 
prevailed.  Master  of  the  situation,  I  addressed  the 
audience  as  follows: — 

"  Gentlemen  !  In  presenting  to  Italy  this  work  of 
our  illustrious  compatriot,  I  believed  I  was  acting 
wisely  in  selecting  for  its  first  critics  the  public  of 
Bologna,  noted  everywhere  for  its  intelligence  and 
politeness.  I  would  not  wish  anyone  to  applaud 
what  they  do  not  approve  ;  but  in  order  to  criticise 
rightly  it  is  necessary  at  all  events  to  listen  without 
bias  of  party  spirit.  In  this  case  much  inconveni- 
ence has  been  caused  to  peaceble  citizens,  who  came 
to  the  theatre  for  amusement  and  not  for  conflict." 

My  determined  words  gained  me  general  applause, 
and  impressed  the  authors  of  the  disturbance.  When 
the  curtain  fell,  I  was  called  before  it  several  timeSj 
and  I  appeared  holding  poor  Giacometti,  trembling 
in  his  excitement,  tightly  by  the  hand. 

The  Questor,  together  with  the  other  authorities, 
came  to  offer  their  thanks  arid  congratulate  me  on  the 
courage  I  had  shown,  as  though  I  had  saved  the  country. 
From  this  moment  success  was  assured ;  and  so  popu- 
lar did  the  work  become,  that  as  I  walked  along  the 
streets  the  women  pointed  me  out  to  their  companions 
with  the  exclamation — "Look!  look!  there  is  Marie 
Antoinette  !  " 

But  certain   newspapers  by  no  means   abstained 


TOUR  IN  EUROPE— VISIT  TO  AMERICA.   lOI 

from  polemics.  The  tortures  inflicted  by  the  cobbler 
Simon  on  the  unhappy  Dauphin  were  falsified,  or  at 
least  exaggerated  !  The  sufferings,  the  humiliations, 
the  martyrdom  of  the  unfortunate  royal  family  were 
stigmatised  as  poetical  compositions !  But  at  least 
good  sense  and  historical  accuracy  triumphed  over 
fanaticism,  and  Marie  Antoinette  was  received  every- 
where with  the  greatest  enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SECOND   VISIT   TO   AMERICA,    AND    OTHER   ARTISTIC 
JOURNEYS. 

I  LEFT  Italy  in  the  beginning  of  June  1869,  for 
Rio  Janeiro,  and  on  the  20th  opened  at  the  Flumi- 
neuse  Theatre  with  Medea. 

Although  the  strong  desire  to  see  me  which  existed 
among  the  Brazilians  had  drawn  great  crowds  to  the 
Theatre,  among  whom  were  their  Majesties  the 
Emperor  and  Empress,  and  the  Imperial  Princess, 
yet,  to  my  amazement,  when  I  presented  myself  on 
the  mountain  height  with  my  two  children,  not  a 
sound  of  applause  greeted  me  !  My  reception  was  in 
fact  icily  cold.  This  extraordinary  and  unusual  wel- 
come almost  stunned  me  for  a  moment,  for  the  courte- 
ous manner  in  which  the  Brazilian  public  generally 
received  artistes  was  well  known  from  those  who  had 
experienced  it. 

But  suddenly,  at  the  first  scenic  effect,  their  cold- 
ness melted  away !  It  was  when  Medea.,  in  answer 
to  her  children's  entreaties  for  bread,  uttered  the 
agonizing  words — 

"  Gladly  would  I  empty  my  veins  to  the  last  drop, 
And  say,  Here, drink  your  nourishment  from  my  blood." 

This  invocation  uttered  with  trembling  lips,  and 
coming   straight   from   the  heart,   excited  a  frantic 
(102) 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  103 

applause,  and  raised  demonstrations  which  are  the 
baptism  of  success.  It  rose  to  a  paroxysm  when 
Medea,  turning  to  Creusa,  tells  her  that  were  she  to 
find  her  rival  she  would  spring  upon  her  like  a 
leopard,  tearing  its  prey  limb  from  limb. 

How  overwhelmed  I  was  with  honors  and  distinc- 
tions by  the  Brazilians  and  their  sovereign!  He 
honored  me  with  a  friendship  of  which  I  am  proud. 
Neither  time  nor  distance  have  diminished  my  re- 
membrance of  it.  Received  at  Court  with  my  family, 
I  cannot  describe  the  kindness  and  graciousness  I 
met  in  that  Imperial  family.  I  had  many  opportuni- 
ties of  admiring  the  culture  and  deep  knowledge  of 
the  Emperor,  who  is  versed  in  the  literature  of  all 
languages,  and  is  beloved  by  his  subjects  for  the 
rectitude  of  his  principles  and  his  justice.  Well  may 
they  be  grateful  to  him,  for  his  only  aim  in  life  is 
their  well-being.  The  principal  cause  of  his  various 
journeys  in  Europe  is  the  ardent  desire  that  his 
country  may  enjoy  the  benefit  of  the  latest  progress 
made  in  science  and  art,  in  order  to  make  his  people 
great  and  prosperous. 

I  sailed  for  Buenos  Ayres,  carrying  away  the  most 
agreeable  recollections  of  my  last  evening  at  Rio, 
where,  after  the  performance,  I  was  accompanied  to 
my  pretty  little  villa  in  the  suburbs  by  thousands  of 
torches,  and  bands  of  music  playing  national  airs ; 
the  streets  through  which  I  passed  being  strewn  with 
flowers,  while  the  Bengal  lights  gave  us  every  now 
and  then  glimpses  of  the  wonderful  Bay  of  Rio  de 
Janeiro. 

On  the  loth  of  September  I  performed  at  Buenos 


104  ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 

Ayres.  Fresh  joys  awaited  me  in  that  pleasant  land, 
where  the  numerous  Italian  colony,  who  there,  as  in 
every  distant  region,  honor  the  mother  country,  gave 
me  a  truly  royal  welcome,  almost  as  though  they 
were  jealous  of  that  offered  me  by  the  people  of  the 
Argentine  Republic. 

I  then  went  to  Monte  Video  until  the  26th  October, 
obtaining  there  the  same  results,  and  returned  to 
Italy  by  way  of  Rio  Janeiro,  where  the  echoes  of  my 
first  appearance  there  were  not  yet  silent. 

In  September  1871,  I  revisited  the  Danubian  Prin- 
cipalities, Bucharest,  Galaby,  Bracla,  Jassy.  From 
this  last  place  we  had  a  most  disastrous  journey  to 
Russia.  Means  of  transport  were  scarce  and  most 
difficult  to  find.  We  had  to  traverse  uncultivated 
steppes  utterly  devoid  of  roads,  except  such  as  might 
be  called  natural  footpaths.  We  hired  all  sorts  of 
vehicles ;  they  were  only  similar  in  one  respect,  they 
were  all  open.  They  even  wanted  the  necessary 
means  of  sitting  safely.  We  managed  the  best  way 
we  could,  and  when  we  started  on  our  journey  we 
had  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  caravan  of  emi- 
grants !  The  horses  attached  to  the  first  carriage, 
which  was  mine,  had  large  bells  fastened  to  their 
harness,  so  that  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  they 
might  serve  as  guide  for  the  others.  We  were  so' 
jolted  about  in  the  ruts  of  the  uneven  roads,  that  we 
had  to  hold  tightly  to  the  sides  lest  we  should  be 
shaken  out  of  the  carriages.  The  road,  indeed, 
looked  like  a  frozen  sea  !  It  was  the  middle  of  Octo- 
ber ;  the  night  was  extremely  cold,  and  though  we 
were  wrapped  to  the  chin   in   rugs  and  cloaks,  of 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  105 

which  we  carried  a  good  supply,  yet,  as  our  vehicles 
were  open,  we  suffered  very  severely  from  the  tem- 
perature. 

Early  in  the  morning  our  drivers,  without  consult- 
ing us,  halted  right  in  the  middle  of  a  plain,  and 
commenced  to  give  the  horses  a  feed  of  hay  and  oats. 
There  was  no  dwelling-place  in  sight ;  so  the  luxury 
of  a  cafe  or  refreshment-room  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  We  resigned  ourselves  patiently  to  imitate  the 
example  of  this  patriarchal  simplicity,  and  eat  our 
breakfast  in  the  open  air !  Seated  on  the  ground, 
upon  a  rug,  we  set  to  work  upon  the  provisions  we 
had  fortunately  brought  with  us.  The  originality  of 
the  meal,  the  enormous  appetites  the  cold  of  the 
night  had  given  us,  the  fresh  country  air,  and  the 
merriment  produced  by  the  unusual  spectacle,  all 
combined  to  render  that  repast  a  most  enjoyable 
one. 

We  reached  Kischeneff  on  the  20th,  and  went  to 
the  best  hotel  in  the  place.  What  happiness  after 
our  nomadic  expedition  !  Taking  possession  of  our 
rooms  in  order  to  enjoy  well-deserved  repose,  we 
became  aware  of  the  microscopic  comforts  upon 
which  we  had  congratulated  ourselves.  Our  beds 
were  provided  only  with  one  single  sheet.  All  the 
servants  had  gone  to  bed ;  we  had  to  ring  a  regular 
alarm  for  these  absolute  necessaries.  They  informed 
us,  without  any  circumlocution,  that  if  we  wanted 
more  sheets  we  should  have  to  pay  for  them. 

Having  got  what  we  wanted,  we  were  sleeping  at 
last,  when  we  were  roused  in  the  depths  of  the  night 
by  the  cries  of  a  woman   resounding   through   the 


I06  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

whole  house,  and  they  attracted  us  all  to  our  doors ; 
the  bells  were  again  set  in  motion,  and  the  servants 
ran  from  all  sides.  They  told  us  that  all  this  hubbub 
was  caused  by  a  Colonel's  wife,  to  whom  her  amiable 
husband  was  administering  correction,  of  which  she 
would  have  probably  to  preserve  unpleasant  remem- 
brances ! 

The  cries  continued.  Full  of  pity  and  indignation 
we  sent  the  most  vigorous  of  our  party  to  the  assist- 
ance of  the  unfortunate  woman ;  his  loud  knocks  at 

her  door  were  followed  by  silence when,  behold  ! 

we  see  the  victim  make  her  appearance  in  the  corri- 
dor in  very  light  attire,  angrj-,  and  calling  out  with 
stentorian  voice  :  "  What  do  you  want .-'  Mind  your 
own  affairs  !  My  husband  may  beat  me  if  he  likes  !  " 
To  which  the  least  excited  amongst  us  responded 
with  a  calmness  which  still  makes  me  laugh:  "Well, 
Madame,  if  this  treatment  is  good  for  you,  at  least 
bear  it  without  making  such  a  noise  !  As  for  us,  we 
want  to  sleep  !  "     And  so  we  returned  to  our  beds. 

From  Kischeneff  I  went  to  Odessa,  and  thence  to 
Kieff.  Towards  the  end  of  1872,  after  stopping  at 
Berlin  and  Weimar,  and  making  a  tour  through  Bel- 
gium, I  took  up  my  winter  quarters  at  Rome,  in  order 
to  obtain  the  repose  necessary  after  so  many  long 
journeys  and  the  fatigues  of  the  stage.  And  here  I 
may  say,  that  I  only  visited  the  Danubian  Principal- 
ities, Turkey  and  Greece  once,  but  I  was  in  the 
other  parts  of  the  world  twice,  and  even  oftener, 
choosing  always  Paris  or  Rome  as  the  places  where 
I  enjoyed  the  short  rest  I  was  able  to  obtain. 

In  1873  I  revisited  London  for  the  fourth  time. 


SECOND  VISIT  TO  AMERICA.  107 

Having  no  new  works  to  produce,  and  weary  of 
playing  always  the  same  things,  I  felt  the  necessity 
of  invigorating  my  mental  powers  by  some  strong 
emotion  ;  in  short,  of  undertaking  some  difficult  task 
which  had  never  yet  been  essayed  by  an  Italian 
actress. 

One  day  I  fancied  I  had  discovered  what  would 
satisfy  this  aspiration  of  my  restless  spirit.  The  ad- 
miration which  I  had  always  felt  for  the  works  of 
Shakespeare,  and  especially  for  his  Lady  Macbeth, 
made  me  conceive  the  idea  of  rendering  in  its  original 
language  the  grand  sleep-walking  scene  which  is  one 
of  the  most  gigantic  conceptions  of  this  mighty  poet. 

I  was  impelled  to  essay  this  task  by  the  strong 
desire  I  had  to  acknowledge,  as  well  as  I  could,  the 
affection  and  constant  interest  which  the  most  intelli- 
gent public  of  the  great  metropolis  of  the  United 
Kingdom  had  always  shown  me.  But  how  was  I  to 
succeed  in  it  ?  This  was  the  question  my  wavering 
mind  was  always  putting  to  itself. 

I  consulted  one  of  my  amiable  acquaintances,  Mrs. 
Ward,  mother  of  the  distinguished  actress,  Genevieve 
Ward.  She  not  only  encouraged  me  to  put  my  idea 
into  practice,  but  offered  to  help  me  in  learning  the 
scene. 

I  retained  some  small  reminiscences  of  English 
studies  made  when  I  was  a  child,  but  there  is  no 
idiom  so  difficult  to  pronounce  as  the  English,  and 
the  number  of  years  which  had  passed  since  I  had 
attempted  it  rendered  me  diffident,  although  at  the 
same  time  I  felt  greatly  attracted  by  such  an  arduous 
task.     Thanks  to  my  special  natural  facility  for  for- 


I08  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

eign  languages,  I  was  able,  after  fifteen  days  of  inde- 
fatigable study,  to  undertake  the  ordeal ;  but  as  I 
had  no  wish  to  risk  a  failure,  I  proceeded  with  the 
utmost  caution. 

I  decided  to  invite  the  theatrical  critics  of  the  most 
important  journals  of  the  city  to  my  house^  without 
telling  them  why  I  desired  their  company.  They  all 
very  courteously  accepted  my  invitation,  and  I  then 
unfolded  my  project,  and  the  idea  with  which  it  had 
inspired  me.  I  begged  them  to  hear  me,  and  frank- 
ly and  honestly  give  me  their  opinion  upon  my  per- 
formance, assuring  them  that  I  should  not  be  at  all 
offended  if  it  were  unfavorable. 

I  then  went  through  the  scene  I  had  been  study- 
ing, with  which  they  expressed  themselves  extremely 
satisfied.  They  only  corrected  me  in  two  words,  and 
they  entreated  me  to  announce  my  audacious  attempt 
to  the  public. 

But  when  the  evening  came  for  the  representation, 
and  the  moment  for  that  important  scene  approach- 
ed, I  felt  my  heart  sink.  But  the  kindly  reception 
given  me  by  the  audience  as  soon  as  I  appeared, 
greatly  assisted  me  in  regaining  my  composure.  The 
fortunate  result  of  my  experiment  was  ample  com- 
pensation for  all  my  anxieties. 

My  desires,  however,  increased  with  my  success. 
I  aspired  to  yet  higher  flights.  In  a  word,  I  aimed  at 
no  less  than  performing  the  entire  part  of  Lady 
Macbeth  in  English;  but  the  idea  seemed  rash,  so 
that  I  dismissed  for  the  time  the  tempting  thought. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JOURNEY   ROUND   THE   WORLD. 

In  May  1874,  I  began,  with  my  husband,  a  journey 
round  the  world,  having  as  companions  our  children 
and  an  old  friend.  General  Galletti,  who  was  a  very 
pleasant  fellow-traveller  for  us. 

The  order  of  our  course  was  as  follows — Bordeaux, 
Rio  de  Janeiro,  Buenos  Ayres,  Montevideo,  Valpa- 
raiso, Santiago,  Lima,  Vera  Cruz,  Mexico,  Puebla, 
United  States,  San  Francisco,  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
New  Zealand,  Sydney,  Melbourne,  Adelaide,  Ceylon, 
Aden,  Suez,  Alexandria  in  Eg}'pt,  Brindisi,  Rome. 

After  making  a  beginning  to  our  tour,  as  I  have 
said,  at  Rio  Janeiro,  Buenos  Ayres,  and  Montevideo, 
we  embarked  on  board  the  splendid  English  steamer 
Britannia  on  the  15th  of  July,  for  Valparaiso.  We 
passed  through  the  famous  Straits  of  Magellan,  hav- 
ing Patagonia  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  Terra 
del  Fuego.  I  will  not  delay  my  narrative  to  indulge 
in  any  long  description  of  the  emotion  I  experienced 
as  I  contemplated  for  the  first  time  the  view  that 
nature  had  spread  before  me.  I  will  only  say  that 
the  delicious  weather  we  enjoyed,  contrary  to  the 
prognostications  made  before  our  departure,  permit- 
ted us  all  to  remain  on  deck  and  strain  our  eyes  in 
the  effort  to  be  the  first  to  discover  some  point  of 
view,  or  some  object  which  had  for  us  the  charm  of 

(109) 


no  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

novelty.  And  we  had  not  long  to  wait.  See  !  yonder 
advances  z.piroque,  making  for  our  vessel.  It  contains 
a  family  of  Patagonians,  extremely  tall  in  stature, 
with  straight  countenances,  and  long  thick  hair,  rough 
and  coarse  as  a  horse's  mane.  Their  wide  mouths, 
huge  cheek  bones,  and  very  white  and  prominent 
long  teeth,  reminded  me  of  my  old  acquaintances  the 
redskins,  whom  I  had  met  many  times  during  my 
journeys  through  California.  I  seem  to  see  again 
those  very  tall  Patagonians,  with  nothing  on  but  a 
blanket  of  guanaco  skin. 

They  made  signs  that  they  wanted  tobacco  and 
something  to  eat ;  and,  in  order  to  satisfy  them,  we 
begged  the  captain  to  slacken  speed,  as  it  was  usual 
to  do  in  this  place  and  in  such  a  case ;  but  for  some 
reason,  which  I  do  not  now  remember,  he  refused. 
The  natives,  disappointed  in  their  expectations,  ex- 
pressed their  indignation  by  unmistakable  signs  of 
anger,  and  I  may  say  that  the  little  I  heard  of  their 
language  was  not  harmonious.  We  were  thirty-six 
hours  in  traversing  the  Straits,  and  when  we  issued 
from  them  at  Cape  Pilar  we  found  the  sea  so  rough 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  we  could  keep  our  feet. 

I  had  lashed  myself  to  the  great  ring  which  secured 
the  port-hole  just  above  my  berth,  when  the  sea 
struck  the  side  of  the  vessel  with  such  violence  that 
both  I  and  my  bed  were  thrown  to  the  ground,  and 
there  I  remained. suspended  by  the  arm  still  lashed 
to  the  ring.  I  was  too  ill  to  extricate  myself  alone 
from  that  inconvenient  position.  The  persons  who 
ran  to  help  me  stumbled  also,  thus  offering  a  curious 
spectacle.  In  this  way  we  began  our  acquaintance 
with  the  Pacific  Ocean. 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  m 

At  Valparaiso,  on  the  ist  of  August,  I  gave  my 
first  performance,  opening  with  my  favorite  tragedy 
of  Medea,  the  invariable  success  of  which  had  caused 
me  to  select  it  on  this  occasion. 

I  remained  two  months  in  that  city,  Santiago,  and 
Quillota.  Not  less  than  in  other  places  was  the  favor 
with  which  I  was  distinguished  by  that  public.  The 
1 8th  of  October  I  was  at  Lima,  the  beautiful  capital 
of  Peru.  There,  as  usual,  I  began  with  Medea.  I 
found  an  audience,  intelligent,  easily  roused,  and  pro- 
fuse in  manifestations  of  courtesy  towards  me. 

But  we  hardly  escaped  being  witnesses  of  a  civil 
war.  I  was  far  from  foreseeing  that  amongst  the  few 
passengers  taken  on  board  the  Britannia  in  passing 
Punta  Arenas,  just  in  the  middle  of  the  Straits  of 
Magellan,  there  should  be  one  who  two  months  after- 
wards would  disturb  our  quiet  sojourn  at  Lima. 
This  personage  was  rather  short  in  stature,  but  of  bold 
aspect,  rather  silent,  and  his  rough  manners  did  not 
prepossess  us  in  his  favor;  also  the  gossip  which 
circulated  about  him  in  our  little  floating  colony 
was  not  such  as  to  inspire  us  with  the  desire  of  im- 
proving our  acquaintance  with  him.     It  was  said  that 

Seiior had  been  head  of  a  vast  conspiracy  tending 

to  overturn  the  President  of  the  Peruvian  Republic. 
The  plot  was  nothing  less  than  to  blow  up  the  whole 
train  which  was  carrying  the  President  and  the  Min- 
isters to  the  inauguration  of  a  new  line  of  railway. 
Rightly  or  wrongly,  the  individual  in  question  was 
accused  of  being  the  instigator  of  this  terrible  crime, 
and  he  was  exiled.  This  dangerous  fellow-traveller 
landed  at  Coronel,  the  first  Chilian  port  our  steamer 


112  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

touched.  We  had  arrived  at  Valparaiso  when  the 
news  spread  that,  joined  by  a  certain  number  of 
partisans,  he  had  hired  a  mercantile  clipper  and 
hoisted  sail  for  an  unknown  destination. 

Our  pleasant  stay  at  Valparaiso  and  Santiago,  had 

caused  us  to  forget  the  name  and  deeds  of  Senor : 

but,  arriving  at  Lima,  it  came  to  our  notice  that  he 
had  disembarked  on  the  Peruvian  coast  and  was  car- 
rying on  a  guerilla  warfare  at  the  head  of  a  little  army 
against  the  troops  of  the  Peruvian  Government, 
which,  accustomed  to  these  vicissitudes,  were  not 
greatly  affected  thereby.  Revolutions  and  counter- 
revolutions follow  upon  each  other  in  this  blessed 
country  where  the  so  ardentl3'-desired  post  of  Presi- 
dent generally  costs  the  life  of  the  ambitious  can- 
didate who  achieves  it;  such,  at  least,  was  usually 
the  case  up  to  1874. 

Besides  the  papers,  which  gave  us  every  morning 
news  of  the  war,  we  possessed  a  living  gazette  in  the 
person  of  a  native  servant  whom  we  had  engaged  to 
assist  our  own  domestics.  Although  his  business 
was  only  to  market  and  go  messages,  he  had  pom- 
pously arrogated  to  himself  the  title  of  majordomo; 
and  it  was  impossible  to  make  him  cross  the  street 
door.  At  every  news  unfavorable  to  the  Presidential 
part}',  the  majordomo  affected  a  tragic  tone  and  we 
were  treated  to  his  lamentations. 

At  first  we  could  not  understand  why  he  should 
prefer  to  remain  shut  up  within  doors ;  but  one  day, 
our  own  servant  forcing  him  to  go  out,  he  provided 
himself  with  a  sword-stick,  with  which,  he  said,  he 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  113 

would  know  how  to  defend  himself,  although  he  was 
not  certainly  a  man  ready  to  strike  ! 

"  How  ? "  said  the  other.  "  You  have  to  go  to 
market,  and  not  to  fight." 

"  Why,  don't  you  know,"  he  answered,  "  the  dan- 
ger which  threatens  us  at  every  corner  of  the  street  ? 
The  Government  wants  soldiers,  takes  them  by  force; 
and  if  they  lay  hands  upon  me,  I  am  lost." 

And  such  was  the  case,  as  we  were  able  to  certify 
shortly  afterwards.  A  sergeant  with  two  soldiers 
stood  at  every  turning,  taking  conscript  every  man  of 
the  people  he  met ;  and,  in  case  of  resistance,  he 
threw  the  lasso  over  him,  in  the  same  way  as  they 
use  it  to  catch  wild  horses  in  the  plains  of  Mexico. 

Meantime  Seiior and  his  adherents  advanced 

towards  the  capital.  One  fine  morning  the  President 
started  at  the  head  of  the  whole  Lima  garrison  to  go 
and  fight  the  enemy  so  dreaded  by  the  great  majority 
of  the  country,  and  only  left  the  police  to  guard  the 
capital.  Of  the  whole  population,  we  were  the  only 
persons  astonished  at  what  was  happening,  the  inhab- 
itants being  long  accustomed  to  similar  events.  One 
evening  we  had  returned  from  a  most  interesting 
excursion  along  the  grand  railway  line  undertaken  by 
Meigs,  which  leads  from  Oraya  across  the  Andes  to 
connect  Peru  with  the  river  Amazon.  In  a  few 
hours  we  had  reached  a  height  of  14,000  feet,  cross- 
ing zones  of  the  most  varied  vegetation,  meeting 
with  numerous  flocks  of  llamas,  sometimes  free, 
sometimes  used  as  beasts  of  burden.  We  were  all 
assembled  at  table,  relating  to  a  Peruvian  friend  who 
was  dining  with  us  the  impressions  of  the  day,  when 


114  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

suddenly  cries  of  "  Sierra  puerta,  sierra  puerta !  "* 
were  heard  in  the  street.  A  terrified- woman  rushed 
into  our /a//^ t  screaming :  "Jesus!  Maria!  la  revo- 
lucion  !  " 

Our  valiant  Majordomo,  more  alarmed  even  than 
the  woman,  hastened  to  the  street-door,  which  he 
closed  precipitately  and  secured  with  bar  and  bolts. 
Curiosity  impelled  us  to  the  windows,  from  whence 
we  saw  our  neighbors,  in  hot  haste,  using  the  same 
precautions.  The  shots  we  heard  at  a  little  distance 
caused  us  prudently  to  draw  in  our  heads. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  we  asked  our 
guest,  who,  without  showing  the  slightest  discompos- 
ure, informed  us : 

"It  is  only  a  Sierra  Puerta.  Every  time  the 
President  is  forced  to  leave  the  city  with  the  garrison 
to  repress  a  revolutionary  movement,  it  rarely  hap- 
pens that  they  who  remain  at  home  do  not  come  to 
blows  in  the  city  itself.  The  police  being  too  few  in 
number  to  maintain  order,  are  commanded  to  patrol 
the  streets  before  returning  to  the  barracks  crying 
*  Sierra  puerta  ! '  Every  inhabitant  shuts  the  house- 
door  and  secures  it  as  best  he  can,  and  patiently 
awaits  the  event.  In  the  streets  one  might  run  the 
risk  of  a  shot ;  but  the  houses  are  never  invaded,  and 
we  may  go  on  with  our  dinner." 

This  sublime  indifference  in  no  way  modified  our 
curiosity,  and,  despite  his  advice,  we  did  not  leave 
the  windows.     Nothing  more  was  seen  or  heard,  and 

*  Shut  the  door,  shut  the  door. 
t  Court  or  yard. 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  115 

the  distant  shots  ceased.  Soon  after  the  doors  were 
cautiously  re-opened,  the  inhabitants  re- appeared, 
and  presently  the  police-guards  again  showed  them- 
selves in  the  streets,  spreading  reassuring  tidings. 
It  had  been  only  a  false  alarm ;  the  telegraph 
announced  a  great  victory  of  the  President  over  the 
rebels.  "All's  well  that  ends  well,"  says  Shakes- 
peare. We  opened  the  doors,  laughing  at  tlie  tragi- 
comic interruption,  and  resumed  our  places  at  table. 

In  this  capital  the  ladies  are  as  beautiful  as  they 
are  amiable.  Many  pages  would  not  suffice  to  regis- 
ter all  the  affectionate  remembrances  which  crowd 
upon  my  mind  while  I  am  writing. 

On  the  28th  November  we  left  Callao,  the  port  of 
Lima,  which  is  hardly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  distant, 
and  we  embarked  on  board  the  Oroja,  surrounded  by 
our  new  and  charming  friends,  who  had  largely 
contributed  to  enliven  our  short  visit  to  their  country. 

The  voyage  from  Peru  to  Panama  was  most  en- 
chanting. The  sea,  always  smooth,  allowed  even 
the  worst  sailors  amongst  us  to  stay  on  deck,  reclin- 
ing on  our  sea-chairs,  following  the  flights  of  pelicans, 
and  albatross,  which  traced  long  white  and  grey 
lines  on  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky.  We  passed, 
almost  touching  them,  the  Islands  of  Lejos  and  the 
arid  rocks  of  the  Sylla  de  Prysta.  But  the  scene 
quickly  changes,  and  we  see  islands  of  fantastic  veg- 
etation, where  all  the  rich  fruits  of  the  tropics  grow 
^wild. 

The  Isthmus  of  Panama  is  a  terrestrial  paradise ; 
it  is  the  ideal  Eden  of  the  poets ! 


Il6  ADELAIDE   RISTORL 

Its  flora  is  most  varied  and  gigantic,  and  at  once 
deliglits  and  bewilders  tlie  observer.  The  sky  is 
azure,  and  mucli  more  diaphanous  and  vaporous 
than  ours.  There  are  sunrises  and  sunsets  wliicli 
are  so  many  idyls  of  nature. 

At  Panama  we  left  the  Oroj'a,  and  in  a  few  liours 
the  railway  took  us  from  one  ocean  to  another, 
across  a  marvellously  beautiful  country,  which  leaves 
an  impression  on  the  memory  like  a  fairy  tale.  The 
high  temperature,  however,  and  the  heavy,  unwhole- 
some atmosphere,  caused  us  to  experience  a  feeling 
of  relief  when  we  again  left  terra  iirma  and  set  foot 
on  the  Saxonia,  a  German  steamer,  which  carried  us 
to  the  pretty  town  of  St.  Thomas,  after  a  short  stay 
at  Curagoa. 

On  the  1 6th  December  we  took  passage  in  an 
English  company's  steamer  for  Mexico.  On  the. 
25th,  after  touching  at  Havana,  behold  us  again  on 
board  the  Ebro,  gliding  placidly  upon  the  shining 
mirror  of  the  Mexican  Gulf. 

Each  of  us,  going  up  on  deck  in  the  morning, 
feels  a  soft  and,  at  the  same  time,  melancholy  emo- 
tion, and  smile  as  we  shake  hands  with  our  travelling 
companions.  We  are  by  this  time  no  longer  strang- 
ers to  each  other.  Dislikes,  if  there  were  any,  vanish 
— a  common  tie  unites  us  ;  every  one  sighs  and  longs 
for  something.  It  is  Christmas,  and  many  a  thou- 
sand leagues  divide  us  from  our  homes  and  friends. 
The  thoughts,  which  on  such  a  day  fly  away  like 
swallows  beneath  that  sparkling  sky.  are  mutually 
understood  ;  they  bear  an  electric  current  from  our 
hearts  to  those  who  are  far  awav. 


JOURNEY  ROUND   THE   WORLD.  WJ 

Our  floating  palace  is  in  gala  to-day,  and  since 
yesterday  evening  the  dining-room  no  longer  wears 
its  everyday  appearance ;  the  pictures  on  the  walls 
disappear  beneath  the  wreaths  of  holly  brought  from 
England  j  broad  ribbons  running  along  the  cornice 
bear  white  placards  with  "  Happy  Christmas  "  in 
capital  letters.  Garlands  of  flowers  hang  from  the 
ceiling ;  the  table  from  early  morning  has  assumed 
gigantic  dimensions,  our  captain  having  delicately 
thought  of  suppressing  distinctions  on  this  occasion, 
and  inviting  both  second  and  first  class  passengers 
to  march  in  file  past  the  monumental  plum  pudding 
mixed  jn  the  kitchen  on  board. 

At  7  we  are  all  standing  in  our  places,  and  the 
captain,  having  said  a  short  prayer,  salutes  us  all,  as 
we  sit  down,  with  these  words  :  "  A  happy  Christmas 
to  you  all,  ladies  and  gentlemen  !  " 

Dinner  over,  we  go  on  deck  again,  where  artificial 
fireworks  are  ready.  Nothing  can  be  imagined  more 
fantastic  than  those  streaming  rockets  and  that 
golden  shower  on  a  beautiful  tropical  night  in  that 
silver-flashing  sea,  upon  which  our  ship  ploughed  a 
luminous  furrow.  "  Hurrah  !  "  burst  forth  the  sailors 
in  stentorian  voices,  adding  the  name  of  each  coun- 
try represented  on  board — formidable  hurrahs  flung 
into  the  air  in  the  immense  ocean  solitudes,  having 
found  an  echo  in  our  hearts. 

After  the  artificial  fireworks  a  dance  was  improvised 
for  the  sailors  and  the  steerage  passengers,  the  cap- 
tain opening  the  ball.  The  orchestra,  composed  of 
a  hand-organ  and  a  trombone — an  original  and  cer- 
tainly  novel    combination — was  situated    near.     An 


Il8  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

enormous  bunch  of  mistletoe  was  hung  from  a  rope 
above  the  deck,  and  we  sat  all  round  enjoying  the 
gayety  of  these  good  people,  and  sharing  in  their 
laughter  every  time  that  the  dancers  passed  beneath 
the  fatal  plant,  when,  according  to  the  old  English 
custom,  the  gentleman  has  the  right  to  steal  a  kiss 
from  his  partner. 

By  midnight  silence  and  stillness  once  more  reign- 
ed on  board.  As  for  us,  we  still  remained  awhile  on 
deck  in  ecstatic  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  sky 
where  every  star  seemed  to  smile  and  shed  its  rays 
on  us. 

I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  return  to  my 
cabin.  More  than  ever  on  this  Christmas  night  I  felt 
my  heart  full  of  deep  gratitude  towards  God  who  had 
protected  me  and  mine  in  our  long  voyage  across  the 
seas,  and  who  was  granting  me  this  feeling  of  rest, 
tranquillity  and  hope  for  the  work  still  lying  before 
me.  The  ship's  bell  ringing  2  o'clock  caused  me  to 
rise  from  my  seat.  A  sailor  passed  near  me  :  "  A 
happy  Christmas  to  you  and  your  dear  ones,"  I  said, 
unable  to  resist  the  impulse  of  speaking  to  him  the 
words  with  which  our  good  quartermaster  had  receiv- 
ed me  on  deck  that  morning. 

We  touched  St.  Thomas,  Porto  Rico,  and  Vera 
Cruz.  Here  I  was  received  in  a  way  which  I  can- 
not pass  without  mention.  The  municipality  welcom- 
ed me  officially,  and  provided  me  with  lodgings  and 
everything  I  required.  In  fact,  I  may  say  that  I  was 
the  guest  of  the  entire  population,  who  presented  me 
with  flowers  and  poetry.  I  commenced  my  perform- 
ances in  the  city  of  Mexico  on  the  31st  December. 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  1 19 

I  will  only  observe  that  here  also  I  was  treated  with 
the  greatest  consideration. 

On  this  my  second  visit  to  Vera  Cruz,  I  was  still 
more  greatly  struck  with  the  lugubrious  aspect  of  the 
city.  Not  by  accident  did  Cortes  call  it  the  "  True 
Cross,"  in  memory  of  so  many  comrades  fallen  victims 
to  the  Black  Vomit  and  Yellow  Fever,  which  prevail 
there  almost  continually.  I  confess  that  my  appre- 
hensions only  ceased  when  we  set  foot  on  the  French 
steamer  Ville  de  Brest,  which  was  to  bear  us  to  New 
York. 

It  was  the  17th  of  February.  From  the  preced- 
ing evening,  however,  to  our  dread  of  the  climate  was 
added  the  prospect  of  a  most  difficult  start,  since 
a  strong  north  wind  (frequent  and  alarming  on  those 
shores)  was  hourly  increasing  in  violence.  In  fact, 
next  morning  the  sight  of  the  terribly  angry  sea 
amply  justified  our  fears.  The  actors  and  part  of 
our  baggage  were  embarked  early  in  the  morning. 
But  the  sea  grew  rougher  every  minute,  and  when  the 
time  came  to  go  on  board,  and  we  were  on  the  pier, 
the  boatmen,  showing  us  the  high  and  tempestuous 
waves  which  were  dashing  against  the  rocky  shore, 
refused  to  row  us  to  the  Ville  de  Brest,  which  was 
dancing  like  a  nutshell  in  the  middle  of  the  road- 
stead. Entreaties  were  of  no  avail,  and  it  was  only 
when  we  had  gradually  reached  the  offer  of  twenty 
dollars  for  each  boat  that  they  summoned  up  suffi- 
cient courage  to  venture  upon  that  passage  of  three 
quarters  of  an  hour.  They  were  eternal,  such  was 
the  trepidation  to  which  we  were  a  prey  lest  the  boats 
should  capsize  at  any  moment. 


120  ADELAIDE  RTSTORI. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  we  scrambled  up  the  ladder 
of  the  steamer  as  well  as  our  drenched  and  conse- 
quently heavy  garments  permitted  us.  The  captain 
had  been  so  polite  as  to  delay  his  departure  for  more 
than  an  hour,  an  unusual  thing  for  a  postal  steamer. 
A  large  part  of  our  luggage  could  not  be  embarked, 
the  boatmen  absolutely  refusing  to  venture  with  a 
heavy  load  through  such  a  sea.  We  were  forced  to 
resign  ourselves  to.  leave  it  there  until  the  next  postal 
steamer  the  following  week,  trusting  in  our  good  star 
to  find  at  New  York  what  was  indispensable ;  for, 
according  to  my  engagements,  I  could  not  delay  the 
first  performances.  At  last  we  were  off,  and  while 
the  first  rotations  of  the  screw  by  degrees  increased 
the  distance  between  us  and  the  Mexican  land,  which 
was  disappearing  in  a  grey  and  melancholy  veil,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  sisters  of  charity,  expelled  by  the 
Government,  kneeling  on  deck,  spite  of  the  rolling 
vessel,  the  impetuous  wind,  and  the  spray  of  the 
waves,  sang  in  a  solemn  hymn  farewell  to  their 
homes,  friends,  and  country,  where  those  holy  women 
were  no  longer  to  expend  the  treasures  of  their 
charity.  We  were  deeply  moved  at  that  pathetic 
picture,  representing  so  many  humble  sacrifices,  so 
much  constant  self-denial  towards  a  most  sublime 
ideal ;  and  I  saw  not  far  from  me  a  sailor  wipe  away 
a  tear  with  his  rough  and  horny  hand. 

***** 

The  passage  from  Havana  to  New  York,  where 
the  Ville  de  Brest  left  us,  was  as  rough  as  the  rest  of 
our  voyage ;  and  we  were  very  glad  to  land  once 
more.     But,    according  to   the   proverb,   "Troubles 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  121 

never  cease,"  I  had  no  sooner  landed  than  I  began 
to  feel  the  want  of  the  luggage  left  behind.  The 
New  York  theatres  had  not  any  large  wardrobes,  and 
many  articles  essential  to  our  performances  were 
missing  from  our  trunks. 

This  state  of  things  lasted  for  a  month,  and  every 
time  I  went  on  the  stage,  arrayed  in  the  makeshift 
attire  I  had  been  forced  to  assume  in  the  place  of 
my  carefully-studied  historical  costumes,  I  felt  almost 
unable  to  identify  myself  with  my  part.  Thus,  for 
example,  the  scantiness  of  my  mantle  constrained 
all  my  movements.  The  meagre  accessories  embar- 
rassed me.  At  last,  when  these  difficulties  were  at 
an  end,  I  had  my  own  belongings  about  me  once 
more. 

From  the  27th  of  February  until  our  departure  for 
Sydney  we  remained  in  the  United  States,  being 
everywhere  received  with  kindness  and  most  flatter- 
ing evidences  of  sympathy.  My  artistic  tour  ended 
at  San  Francisco,  where  I  embarked  for  Australia. 
Unfortunately,  our  last  days  in  the  United  States 
were  marked  by  a  very  sad  incident. 

My  brother  Caesar,  who  was  my  constant  compan- 
ion, lost  his  wife  after  giving  birth  to  her  first  child. 
It  was  impossible  to  abandon  this  poor  little  creature 
to  the  hands  of  an  American  nurse.  The  distance, 
the  difficulty  of  communication,  alike  forbade  it. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  An  idea  was  suggested  which 
we  immediately  seized.  We  must  get  a  she-goat, 
which  would  provide  the  baby  with  nourishment  until 
we  reached  Sydney.  When  the  day  of  embarkation 
came,  the  small  four-legged  nurse  was  the  object  of 


122  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

all  our  care.  But  unfortunately,  the  sea  was  not 
equally  well  disposed  towards  her. 

Our  departure  from  San  Francisco  was  fixed  for 
the  2ist  June  1875.  We  had  taken  places  on  board 
the  City  of  Aielhoume,  and  had  been  told  by  the  cap- 
tain, Mr.  Brown,  that  she  would  leave  at  twelve 
o'clock,  while  the  agents  on  shore  informed  me  later 
that  it  would  not  be  until  two  in  the  afternoon. 
Everything  was  ready  betimes.  Trunks  and  cases, 
large  and  small,  bags  and  baskets,  were  duly  sent  to 
the  ship.  As  there  was  then  only  one  departure  a 
month  from  San  Francisco  to  Australia  we  were  very 
careful  to  be  ready  in  time,  in  order  not  to  risk  being 
left  behind.  Therefore  at  noon,  I  and  my  daughter 
and  the  servants,  went  down  to  the  quay,  from  which 
we  were  distant  twenty  minutes,  while  my  husband  and 
son  were  to  call  at  the  post  office,  and  then  join  us 
on  the  pier.  I  found  a  crowd  of  people  waiting  to 
wish  me  "God  speed";  but  from  the  way  they 
waved  their  handkerchiefs,  as  we  approached,  I  saw 
at  once  that  something  had  happened ;  and,  in  fact, 
they  were  beckoning  to  me  to  make  haste,  for  the  ship 
was  already  raising  her  anchor,  as  the  hour  fixed  by 
the  captain  for  her  departure  had  passed. 

Imagine  what  my  feelings  were.  I  called  out  to 
know  if  my  husband  and  son  had  arrived,  and  when 
I  heard  they  had  not,  I  resolutely  refused  to  embark 
without  them.  The  captain,  annoyed  by  my  refusal, 
ordered  the  engines  to  be  set  going.  My  actors' 
united  entreaties  were  powerless  to  move  him  ;  he 
was  at  that  moment  a  regular  ogre.  My  anxiety 
may  be  better  imagined  than  described. 


I 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  1 23 

Presently  my  husband  and  son  arrived,  breathless 
with  their  haste,  for  they  had  been  informed  of  what 
had  happened.  But  the  captain,  perhaps  to  punish 
us,  had  only  made  a  pretended  start,  convinced,  as 
he  was,  that  my  tardiness  was  due  either  to  negligence 
or  caprice.  When  we  saw  the  steamer  put  back 
again  we  felt  indescribably  relieved.  Assisted  by 
my  friends  and  acquaintances  we  flung  our  small 
belongings  hastily  on  board,  and  threw  ourselves  into 
the  first  chairs  offered  us,  overcome  by  the  emotions 
we  had  experienced.  But  I  was  soon  so  much 
affected  by  the  movement  of  the  sea  that  I  was 
obliged  to  retire  to  my  cabin.  Indeed,  as  soon  as 
we  left  the  harbor  we  were  all  hors  de  combat. 

My  brother,  no  longer  able  to  look  after  the  poor 
baby,  came  without  hesitation  to  the  state  room  I 
shared  with  my  daughter.  He  deposited  the  little 
bundle  in  our  arms,  and  hurried  off  to  his  berth.  The 
juvenile  traveller  began  to  scream  and  fidget.  My 
sufferings  rendered  me  quite  unable  to  look  after  it. 
An  actress  of  the  company,  who  had  kindly  taken 
charge  of  this  poor  little  creature,  hastened  to  our 
assistance.  She  put  it  in  a  cot  in  the  ladies'  cabin. 
But  a  few  days  afterwards  our  troubles  increased  ;  the 
interesting  goat,  which  had  most  satisfactorily  per- 
formed her  duties  as  nurse,  in  her  turn  became 
affected  by  the  sea,  and  lost  her  milk.  The  reader 
will  understand  how  critical  the  situation  then  grew ; 
everybody  on  board  was  interested  in  our  case ;  one 
ran  to  fetch  some  condensed  milk,  another  brought 
some  farinaceous  food,  which,  he  assured  us,  we 
should  find  an  excellent  substitute.     To  hear  them 


124  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

talk,  each  seemed  an  experienced  family  man.  We 
placed  ourselves  in  the  hand  of  Providence  and  let 
them  tr}'.  Thank  God  !  the  baby  throve  under  this 
strange  nursing,  and  was  fat,  ruddy  and  handsome 
when  we  reached  Sydney, 

But  to  return  to  our  journey,  I  gave  the  captain 
the  cold  shoulder  for  several  days ;  but,  seeing  how 
skilfully  he  managed  his  ship,  and  noticing  the  par- 
ticular interest  he  took  in  me  and  my  family,  I  ended 
by  condoning  his  rough  manners,  and  we  became 
capital  friends. 

The  29th  we  reached  Honolulu  in  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  where  we  made  a  halt  of  twenty-four  hours. 
The  Italian  Consul,  good  M,  Schaefos,  came  to 
receive  us  on  board  and  conducted  us  to  a  charming 
hotel  with  verandas  buried  in  verdure — Dutch  neat- 
ness, combined  with  tropical  vegetation.  We  were 
enchanted,  and  ready  to  follow  our  guide  through 
the  ravishing  country  which  surrounded  the  city. 
Scarcely  in  the  hotel  and  our  toilette  made,  we  saw 
M.  Schaefos  come  back  with  an  invitation  in  English 
from  King  Kalakaua  to  breakfast  at  the  palace. 
We  were  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  this 
insular  king  in  the  midst  of  a  court  we  expected  to 
find  grotesque  in  primitive  costume,  all  the  women 
we  had  met  in  the  town  and  country  being  merely 
clothed  in  a  tunic  of  many-colored  print,  their  heads 
crowned  with  flowers  almost  always  yellow,  and  gal- 
loping astride  on  ponies,  laughing  continually  among 
themselves.  As  to  the  men,  the  same  costume  and 
the  same  childish  gayety.  The  Hawaians  are  so 
happy  as  to  be  convinced  that  we  are  not  here  below 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  125 

to  bore  ourselves.  The  court  which  reigns  over 
these  philosophers  must  be  very  amusing. 

Always  accompanied  by  our  amiable  consul,  we 
made  our  entry  into  a  beautiful  garden  where  two 
aides-de-camp  awaited  us,  handsome  fair  youths  tight- 
ly girt  in  European  uniforms  faced  with  silver.  They 
ushered  us  into  the  very  simple  vestibule  of  the 
house,  all  on  the  ground  floor.  The  doors  of  the 
salon  opened  before  us ;  two  lackeys,  in  sky-blue 
livery  and  irreproachable  silver  lace,  held  both  doors 
open,  and  we  walked  into  a  vast  room,  the  walls  of 
which  were  covered  with  the  portraits  of  all  the 
sovereigns  of  the  civilized  world.  Our  beloved 
King  Victor  Emmanuel  smiled  down  upon  us  from  his 
frame,  seeming  to  bid  us  welcome.  Our  hopes  of 
witnessing  a  savage  court  receded  into  dim  distance, 
and  when  King  Kalakaua  advanced,  graciously  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  to  me,  I  understood  how  definitely 
and  completely  our  expectations  were  cheated. 

The  king,  above  middle  height  and  whose  face 
scarcely  indicated  the  native  color,  wore  an  English 
coat  and  whiskers.  His  pleasing  countenance  and 
simple  manner  conveyed  the  impression  of  a  perfect 
gentleman. 

No  more  illusions.  The  king  spoke  the  purest 
English,  and  one  of  his  first  questions  was  to  ask 
whether  we  liked  the  valse  "  A  deux  ou  a  trois 
temps." 

Lunch  was  served,  and  we  took  our  places  at  a 
table  resplendent  with  silver  and  Sevres  china.  To 
excuse  the  Queen's  absence.  His  Majesty  conde- 
scended to  tell  me  "  She  is  in  the  woods,"  and  this 


126  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

was  the  only  note  which  could  recall  us  to  the  local 
tone.  The  repast  was  charming  and  the  conversa- 
tion interesting;  the  more  so  as,  besides  our  consul, 
we  had  amongst  the  guests  Judge  Allen,  our  amiable 
travelling  companion  from  San  Francisco. 

After  lunch  the  king  offered  me  his  arm  for  a  turn 
in  the  garden,  where  there  was  a  pavilion  in  which  a 
very  tolerable  band  was  playing.  With  quite  Euro- 
pean gallantry  they  went  through  our  national  Italian 
airs. 

We  should  have  remained  a  long  time  if  the  king 
had  not  been  engaged  to  attend  a  concert  given  en 
passant  by  our  fellow-passenger,  Mdme.  Murzka,  to 
the  court  and  the  city.  We  had  scarcely  time  to 
change  our  dress  and  make  our  appearance  in  the 
great  hall,  slightly  ornamented,  which  serves  for  the 
public  amusements  of  Honolulu. 

We  were  hardly  in  our  places  when  the  king  en- 
tered with  the  Queen — "  returned  from  the  woods  " — 
on  his  arm.  Love  of  truth  obliges  me  to  state  that 
the  august  consort  recalled  more  vividly  than  her 
husband  Captain  Cook's  descriptions ;  and  her  ladies 
of  honor  did  not  disgrace  the  picture.  The  tone 
was  decidedly  accentuated.  The  Queen  wore  a  low- 
necked  gown  and  train  of  black  silk,  with  the  sky- 
blue  scarf  of  some  order.  The  king,  dressed  in  a 
black  suit,  with  polished  boots,  sat  in  his  gilt  arm- 
chair playing  continually  with  his  cane.  Decidedly 
there  are  no  more  savages — at  Honolulu. 

At  last,  at  midnight,  after  a  comfortable  supper  at 
the  hotel,  we  had  gone  again  on  board  and  retired  to 
our  cabins,  when  several  knocks  at  my  door  caused 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  12/ 

me  to  open  it  and  find  myself  in  the  presence  of  one 
of  the  blue  aides-de-camp  who  had  received  us  in  the 
morning  in  the  royal  garden.  He  held  in  his  hands 
a  mysterious  parcel  wrapped  in  a  vast  red  handker- 
chief, the  ends  of  which  he  placed  in  my  hands.  It 
was  a  present  from  His  Majesty,  who  had  recollected 
the  good  opinion  I  had  expressed  about  the  fruit 
served  at  lunch.  Between  two  ceremoya  I  found,  as 
visiting-card,  the  portrait  of  Kalakaua  II.,  with  his 
autograph  signature. 

We  left  next  day,  and  all  the  way  to  New  Zealand 
had  to  contend  against  very  bad  weather.  The  small 
size  of  our  vessel  (only  800  tons)  made  this  extreme- 
ly trying,  and  for  two  days  the  sea  was  so  rough  as 
to  make  our  captain  rather  anxious. 

After  a  trying  voyage  of  twenty-one  days  we  reach- 
ed Auckland,  where  we  landed  and  spent  a  whole 
day.  To  walk  without  staggering,  to  sit  at  a  table 
covered  with  a  7ahife  cloth  (a  tint  totally  unknown  on 
that  ship-board),  to  have  fresh  and  appetizing  food, 
to  dine  peaceably  without  fidgeting  oneself  as  to 
whether  there  was  a  cloud  on  the  horizon  or  the 
wind  was  increasing,  was  such  a  satisfaction  that  it 
made  us  forget  the  discomfort  and  troubles  endured. 

The  following  morning  we  continued  our  voyage 
to  Sydney,  and  entered  that  magnificent  bay  four 
days  after. 

On  the  evening  of  the  21st  of  July  I  made  my 
first  appearance  at  Sydney,  which  I  left  with  great 
regret  after  a  month  of  continual  ovations.  On  the 
delicious  hills  of  Port  Jackson  I  have  friends  to 
whom  I  here  renew  the  expression  of  my  lively  grati- 
tude. 


128  ADELAIDE  K  IS  TORI. 

From  Sydney  I  went  to  Melbourne,  where  I  acted 
for  thirty-four  nights,  with  the  same  success  as  at 
Sydney,  whither  I  returned  on  the  nth  of  October 
to  take  my  farewell.  Adelaide  was  to  be  our  last 
halting  place  in  this  charming  country.  I  closed  my 
series  of  212  performances  on  the  14th  of  December 
with  the  tragedy  of  Mary  Stuart.  During  this  artis- 
tic tour  I  traversed  35,283  miles  of  sea  and  8,365  of 
land.  (I  kept  the  figures  out  of  curiosity.)  I  spent 
170  days  upon  the  water,  and  seventeen  days  eight 
hours  in  railway  trains.  In  a  word,  I  left  Rome  on 
the  15th  of  April  1874,  and  returned  there  byway 
of  India  and  Brindisi  on  the  14th  of  January  1876, 
after  an  absence  of  twenty  months  and  nineteen 
days. 

After  all,  I  must  confess  that  although  I  brought 
back  the  pleasantest  memories  with  me,  yet  I  was 
delighted  with  the  prospect  of  repose — repose  which 
I  fondly  imagined  would  be  permanent,  but  which 
was,  in  fact,  interrupted  again  and  again  !  To  taste 
the  joy  of  returning  to  one's  country,  to  revisit  one's 
home — to  find  oneself  again  among  relations  and 
friends — to  enjoy  absolute  freedom,  a  pleasure  of 
which  one  had  been  long  deprived,  to  be  able  to 
render  aid  to  those  less  fortunate  than  oneself  by 
appearing  at  performances  or  concerts — were,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  excellent  reasons  to  confirm  me  in  my 
determination  to  retire  from  the  stage. 

But  that  art  fever,  against  which  there  is  no  striv- 
ing, led  me  to  give  up  once  again  that  tranquillity  so 
much  longed  for. 

In  short,  on  the  2d  of  October  1878,  I  started  once 
more  for  a  tour  through  Spain  and  Portugal. 


JOURNEY  ROUND   THE   WORLD.  1 29 

I  visited  Denmark  on  the  4th  of  October  of  the 
same  year,  where  I  was  so  well  satisfied  with  my 
reception  that  I  returned  again  in  the  following  No- 
vember. From  Copenhagen  I  travelled  to  Sweden, 
and  opened  on  the  14th  October  with  Medea,  at  that 
picturesque  city  of  Stockholm,  which  has  been  aptly 
called  "The  Venice  of  the  North." 

Of  what  heights  of  enthusiasm  did  I  not  find  the 
Swedes  capable  !  With  what  a  noble  and  lofty  intel- 
lect King  Oscar  is  endowed !  Among  the  many 
foreign  languages  with  which  he  is  familiar  I  soon 
found  tliat  it  pleased  him  best  to  converse  with  me  in 
my  own.  I  received  many  proofs  of  his  sympathy, 
chief  among  them  being  the  following.  For  my  last 
performance  I  gave  Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England. 
His  Majesty  and  the  Court  were  present.  When  the 
play  was  over,  the  King,  accompanied  by  his  sons, 
came  to  my  dressing-room,  and,  after  having  ex- 
pressed his  great  satisfaction  in  the  most  courteous 
and  flattering  manner,  he  presented  to  me,  with  his 
own  hand,  a  golden  decoration,  bearing  on  one  side 
the  device,  Literis  et  Artibus,  and  on  the  reverse  His 
Majesty's  effigy,  surmounted  by  a  royal  crown  in 
diamonds. 

An  accident,  which  might  have  been  fatal,  hap- 
pened during  my  brief  sojourn  in  Sweden  and  Nor- 
way. The  students  of  Upsala  addressed  me  urgent 
entreaties  to  give  them  a  performance  in  that  great 
University.  After  repeated  refusals  I  ended  by  yield- 
ing to  the  temptation  of  playing  before  that  young 
and  ardent  public,  and,  at  the  risk  of  undertaking 
fatigues  beyond  my  strength,  I  gave  up  the  sole  day 
9 


130  ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 

of  rest  left  me  between  two  performances;  being  en- 
gaged to  play  at  Stockholm  the  24th  and  26th. 

It  was  indispensable  to  travel  at  night  and  take  a 
special  train.  The  country  through  which  we  had  to 
pass  is  intersected  by  broad  and  deep  canals  accessi- 
ble to  large  vessels.  Revolving  bridges,  the  working 
of  which  is  entrusted  to  a  pointsman,  alternately  give 
passage  to  trains  and  ships.  Hurrying  away  from 
Stockholm  after  the  performance,  stunned  by  the 
acclamations  of  the  crowd  who  followed  me  to  the 
station,  I  got  into  the  train  with  my  husband  and  my 
nephew,  Giovanni  Tessero.  I  had  gone  asleep  im- 
mediately in  my  excellent  sleeping-carriage,  when 
towards  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  was  awakened 
by  a  violent  shock  and  repeated  alarm  signals.  The 
train  had  stopped  suddenly.  We  were  told  we  had 
just  escaped,  as  it  were  miraculously,  from  a  great 
danger !  The  telegram  which  was  to  give  warning 
of  the  passage  of  our  train,  containing  only  the 
cypher  12  1-2,  was  understood  by  the  pointsman  for 
half-past  twelve  noon ;  consequently  we  were  not 
expected,  and  the  abyss  was  yawning  at  only  a  few 
yards'  distance  in  front  of  us,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
we  should  have  been  precipitated  into  it,  had  not  the 
engine-driver,  whether  from  precaution  or  presenti- 
ment, slackened  speed  and  stopped  the  train. 

My  nephew,  Tessero,  who  had  gathered  these 
details,  repeated  them  to  us,  shuddering  at  the  peril 
so  narrowly  escaped.  Meantime  the  pointsman  was 
sleeping  placidly,  and  not  thinking  of  making  the 
passage  possible  for  us,  so  that  we  remained  motion- 
less for  some  time.     But  a  comrade  of  his,   upon 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  131 

whom  Morpheus  had  not  so  liberally  strewn  his  pop- 
pies, hearing  the  signals,  closed  the  bridge  and  the 
train  could  continue  the  journey. 

The  following  day  the  innumerable  telegrams  of 
congratulation  I  received  were  a  new  proof  of  the 
affection  entertained  by  that  people  for  me.  I  heard 
from  our  kind  minister,  Comte  de  la  Tour,  that  the 
morning  after  we  left  the  report  spread  in  Stockholm 
that  the  train  had  fallen  into  the  river. 

But  in  contrast  with  this  dismal  recollection  I 
chronicle  another  very  cheerful  one. 

Those  delicious  Swedish  airs  are  still  sounding  in 
my  ears,  which  the  youths  of  Upsala  sang  below  the 
balcony  where  the  Governor  courteously  placed  me 
as  we  came  from  the  supper  he  had  given  in  my 
honor.  It  was  a  real  art  festival.  The  following 
morning  at  six,  at  the  moment  of  leaving  Upsala  to 
return  to  Stockholm,  we  found  those  wonderful  stu- 
dent choristers  in  the  waiting-room  expecting  me. 

They  received  us  singing  a  lively  song,  which  was 
followed  by  several  others,  growing  gradually  more 
melancholy.  When  we  got  into  our  carriage  those 
fine  young  fellows  ranged  themselves  on  the  platform 
opposite  us;  and  scarcely  did  the  engine  begin  to 
whistle  than  they  intoned  the  national  ditty  called  the 
Neckers  Polka,  which  Ambrose  Thomas  has  so  ably 
interwoven  with  the  many  jewels  comprised  in  the 
death-scene  of  Ophelia  in  Hamlet.  The  snow  was 
falling  in  thick  flakes — the  train  began  to  move  slowly 
— we  could  not  leave  the  open  windows  until  those 
sad  harmonies  had  gradually  died  away  upon  the 
ear. 


132  ADELAIDE   R  IS  TOR  I. 

I  returned  to  these  beautiful  countries  in  October 
and  November  1880.  Coming  southwards  the  same 
year,  for  the  first  time  during  my  long  career  I  acted 
at  Munich  in  Bavaria,  giving  four  performances, 
which  I  have  pleasure  in  remembering,  because  I  had 
from  the  German  actors  more  than  elsewhere  fraternal 
welcome. 

At  the  end  of  1880  I  resolved  to  undertake  no 
further  engagements,  but  I  speedily  discovered,  how- 
ever, that  such  inaction  suited  ill  with  the  energy  of 
my  temperament.  For  an  actress  may  be  compared 
to  the  soldier;  the  one  desires  the  excitement  and 
conflict  of  the  stage,  the  other  cannot  resign  himself 
to  the  monotony  of  peace  ! 

And  so,  one  day,  the  vague  idea,  which  for  seven 
years  I  had  been  cherishing  in  secret,  came  upper- 
most in  my  mind  once  more.  Quietly  and  silently  I 
resumed  the  occupation,  so  agreeable  to  me,  of  study- 
ing English. 

I  gave  myself  to  it  with  ardor.  In  proportion  as 
my  lessons  progressed  to  the  satisfaction  of  my  excel- 
lent mistress.  Miss  Clayton,  so  grew  up  within  me 
the  determination  to  succeed  at  every  cost.  Unfort- 
unately the  necessities  of  summer  travelling,  and  of 
many  other  things,  interrupted  my  beloved  studies 
for  six  months  of  the  year.  Rendered  impatient  by 
these  delays,  I  resolved  to  aim  at  nothing  less  than 
acquiring  that  facility  and  clearness  of  pronunciation 
which  the  stage  requires,  without  troubling  to  perfect 
myself  in  the  phrases  used  in  conversation. 

And,  thanks  to  my  tenacity  of  purpose,  I  suc- 
ceeded.    But  what  did  not  this  minute  and  persever- 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  133 

ing  Study  cost  me.  Was  Demosthenes,  with  his 
pebbles  in  his  mouth,  on  the  sea-shore,  more  energetic 
than  I  in  my  study?  In  order  to  vanquish  the 
greatest  of  my  difficulties,  that  of  pronunciation  of 
the  language,  I  invented  a  method  which  I  think  I 
may  call  somewhat  ingenious.  By  the  aid  of  ascend- 
ing and  descending  lines,  I  was  enabled  to  tell  on 
which  syllable  of  a  word  the  voice  should  be  raised, 
or  lowered,  or  dropped.  Thanks  to  other  lines,  which 
were  either  concave  or  convex,  I  learnt  whether  any 
syllable  should  be  pronounced  in  a  deep  or  sonorous 
tone.  Assisted  by  certain  French  diphthongs,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  one  of  the  special  and  most 
distinct  English  sounds,  very  foreign  to  a  Latin  throat; 
sometimes  I  added  to  the  French  diphthong  another 
vowel  sound,  the  value  of  which  in  our  language 
corresponds  to  that  of  the  French  diphthongs  eu,  aou, 
and  thus  I  gradually  succeeded  in  obtaining  the 
desired  result,  and  acquiring  that  euphony  so  neces- 
sary to  every  language. 

Such  were  the  devices  to  which  my  pertinacious 
determination  to  succeed  brought  me  ! 

Encouraged  and  animated  by  the  opinion  of  com- 
petent judges,  I  was  at  last  enabled  to  present 
myself  upon  the  stage  of  Drury  Lane  on  the  3d  of 
July  1882,  to  play  the  entire  part  of  Lady  Macbeth. 

I  need  not  say  what  agitation  and  anxiety  I  went 
through  that  evening.  The  happy  result  alone  could 
banish  my  trepidation.  My  friends  came  from  all 
sides  in  my  dressing-room  to  congratulate  me  on  my 
success;  they  had  the  frankness  to  tell  me  what  I 
knew  very  well,  that  I  had  not  been  able  to  get  rid 


134  ADELAIDE   RTSTORI. 

entirely  of  the  Italian  intonation,  but  they  kindly 
added  that  the  melody  of  our  language  gave  a  pretty 
originality  to  my  reproduction. 

After  several  repetitions  of  Macbeth,  I  undertook 
the  part  of  Elizabeth,  Queen  of  England. 

At  my  first  appearance,  although  the  public  were 
extremely  courteous  to  me,  I  was  by  no  means  equally 
well  satisfied  with  myself !  I  had  been  accustomed 
for  many  years  to  the  same  Italian  actors,  who  under- 
stood exactly  the  interpretation  I  gave  to  every  scene, 
and  every  point  in  my  by-play.  It  was  a  very  differ- 
ent thing  to  find  myself  surrounded  by  persons  igno- 
rant of  my  mode  of  acting,  and  having  little  in 
common  with  me.  For  a  moment  I  felt  my  courage 
evaporate.  But  the  obligation  of  duty  undertaken 
reanimated  and  encouraged  me.  I  endeavored  nei- 
ther to  see  nor  hear,  and  succeeded  in  bringing  the 
play  to  a  conclusion  more  satisfactorily  than  I  could 
have  dared  to  hope  for.  In  subsequent  performances 
everything  went  better, 

I  made  a  tour  through  several  of  the  English 
counties  with  these  two  dramas  in  September,  October 
and  November,  with  the  best  results. 

During  the  winter  of  1883,  which  I  spent  quietly 
in  Rome,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  assisting  at  several 
performances  undertaken  in  the  cause  of  charity. 

In  the  second  half  of  the  same  year  I  revisited 
England,  adding  Mary  Stuart  and  Marie  Antoinette 
to  my  former  repertoire.  During  my  long  stay  there 
I  had  signed  a  contract  for  a  long  tour  in  North 
America,  in  order  to  reproduce  before  the  Anglo- 
Saxon    public    across    the    ocean    what    I    had  just 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  1 35 

accomplished  in  the  United  Kingdom.  I  was  en  pas- 
sant at  Paris,  waiting  the  hour  of  embarking  on  the 
St.  Germaifi,  which  was  to  leave  Havre  the  i8th 
October,  when  I  was  asked  to  take  part  in  a  perform- 
ance to  be  given  in  the  Theatre  des  Nations^  for  the 
benefit  of  the  cholera  victims,  by  the  Comedie  Fran- 
(aise  and  some  distinguished  singers  who  were  also 
at  the  moment  in  Paris.  My  luggage  was  packed  up 
or  gone ;  I  had  no  Italian  actor  with  me  capable  of 
supporting  me  ;  but  I  accepted  readily,  because  the 
purpose  was  for  the  relief  at  the  same  time  of  both 
French  and  Italian  distress.  My  brother,  Caesar, 
who  had  come  to  Paris  to  see  me  off,  agreed  to  sup- 
port me  along  with  a  lady  amateur,  who  was  very  will- 
ing to  become  an  actress  for  a  charity  evening. 

I  was  thus  enabled  in  a  few  hours  to  put  on 
the  stage  the  sleep-walking  scene  of  Lady  Macbeth, 
which  requires  three  characters.  I  added  to  my  con- 
tribution the  fifth  canto  of  Dante's  Inferno. 

For  many  years  I  had  not  felt  French  hearts  thrill- 
ing before  me,  and  before  leaving  Europe  I  felt  a 
real  happiness  in  finding  myself  once  again  in  com- 
munion with  that  good  and  dear  public,  who  had 
given  me  my  first  joys  out  of  Italy.  A  few  hours 
afterwards  I  was  on  board  the  St.  Germain,  carrying 
with  me,  to  cheer  me  during  the  long  passage,  the 
friendly  articles  of  the  whole  French  press,  which 
thanked  me  for  my  last  greeting  to  France. 

For  the  fourth  time  I  arrived  in  the  United  States 
under  the  happiest  auspices,  and  began  from  Phila- 
delphia a  tour  of  seven  months,  which  ended  on  the 
4th  day  of  May  1885.     But  before  returning  to  my 


136  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

own  country,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  acting  Macbeth 
with  Edwin  Booth,  the  Tahna  of  the  United  States. 
I  was  only  able  to  give  one  performance  in  New 
York,  on  the  evening  of  the  7th  of  May,  at  the 
Academy  of  Music,  and  one  at  Philadelphia ;  but 
they  were  truly  grand  artistic  festivals,  and  the  public 
flocked  to  them  in  crowds.  These  satisfactory  results 
incited  the  manager  of  the  permanent  company  at 
the  Thalia  Theatre,  New  York,  to  beg  me  to  act 
in  Schiller's  Mary  Stuart,  on  the  12th,  with  his 
"troupe,"  I  speaking  English  and  they  German. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  me  too  extraordinary  an  idea. 
I  did  not  know  a  word  of  their  language,  yet  at  the 
same  time  I  must  confess  this  strange  proposal  had  a 
certain  fascination  for  me.  I  reflected  that  by  pay- 
ing the  closest  attention  to  the  expression  of  my 
companions'  faces,  with  a  by-play  in  accordance  with 
the  situation  when  I  was  not  speaking,  I  might  be 
able  to  come  creditably  out  of  the  ordeal.  So,  after 
some  slight  hesitation,  I  accepted  the  offer. 

During  the  solitary  rehearsal  I  was  able  to  have 
with  them,  I  was  careful  to  have  the  words  immedi- 
ately preceding  my  parts  repeated  very  distinctly, 
accustoming  my  ears  gradually  to  their  sound.  By 
this  means  everything  went  on  correctly.  The  per- 
formance was  a  success  ;  best  of  all,  the  greater  part 
of  the  audience  were  persuaded  that  I  was  acquaint- 
ed with  the  German  language,  and  complimented 
me  upon  it. 

The  23d  of  March  1885,  we  disembarked  at  South- 
ampton from  the  German  Lloyd's  splendid  steamer 
Fulda,  happy  after  all  to  see  our  old  Europe  once 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  1 37 

more,  and  come  to  the  end  of  the  seven  months' 
journey,  during  which  space  we  had  visited  sixty-two 
cities  of  the  New  World. 

We  should  never  have  been  able  to  traverse  such 
immense  distances  in  so  short  a  time  if  the  industrial 
genius  which  presides  in  America  over  all  the  loco- 
motive enterprises  had  not  come  to  our  assistance. 
There  is  a  company  in  the  United  States  (which  that 
of  the  wagon  lits  begins  to  imitate  with  us),  which 
has  for  its  object  to  let  car  apartments  by  the  week 
or  the  month,  which  can  be  attached  successively  to 
trains  for  all  destinations.  (They  are  often  used  for 
pleasure  excursions.)  The  necessity  for  lodging  at 
inferior  hotels  at  small  towns  is  thus  avoided  ;  one  is 
not  obliged  to  open  trunks  at  every  stopping  place ; 
one  can  live  as  if  at  home,  or  as  conveniently  as  if  on 
board  a  yacht.  This  habit  of  locomotion  is  so  much 
a  part  of  American  life  that  everything  is  organized 
at  the  stations  for  the  provisioning  every  morning  and 
at  any  occasional  pause  in  the  journey. 

It  was  on  leaving  Philadelphia  we  took  possession 
of  our  ambulating  house.  In  the  space  of  only  66 
feet  (English)  we  had  anteroom,  salon,  two  bed- 
rooms, with  respective  dressing-rooms,  two  rooms  for 
servants,  kitchen,  pantry ;  and,  besides  all  this,  there 
were  a  kind  of  iron  cellars  under  the  carriage,  where 
the  provisions  were  kept.  Our  sitting-room  was 
particularly  comfortable  ;  the  hangings  were  furnished 
with  Mezzari  of  Genoa.  We  had  a  piano,  bookcase, 
itageres  filled  with  all  sorts  of  things,  photographs, 
maps,  and  even  hot-house  plants,  which  accompanied 
us  into  the  coldest  regions. 


138  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

We  had  hired  our  yacht  on  wheels  for  five  months. 
We  were  often  in  motion  for  fifteen  days  in  succes- 
sion without  being  aware  of  the  distance  traversed  \ 
and  when  in  the  large  cities  we  left  it  for  the  hotels^ 
it  was  carefully  kept  in  a  shed  in  charge  of  two 
negroes  appointed  specially  for  that  purpose  by  the 
Company. 

Not  without  regret  we  left  behind  us  in  America 
that  pretty  habitation,  thanks  to  which  we  had  made, 
without  fatigue,  so  long  a  journey. 

Such  are  the  principal  events  of  my  artistic  life 
which  my  heart,  guided  by  my  memory,  has  dictated  ; 
and  if  in  evoking  my  recollections  I  have  been  oblig- 
ed to  reawaken  the  praises  bestowed  upon  me,  it  is 
because  they  are  identified  with  each  other,  and  above 
all  because  I  experience  a  legitimate  pride  in  record- 
ing them,  attributing  them  in  great  measure  to  the 
homage  paid  so  splendidly  by  the  public,  beyond  the 
Alps  and  beyond  the  sea,  to  Italian  art. 

My  readers  will  perceive  that  I  have  put  on  one 
side  all  pride  of  authorship,  every  pretension  to  style, 
and  left  on  these  memoirs  the  impression  of  that 
spontaneity  which  has  all  my  life  characterized  my 
actions  and  my  thoughts. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  posthumous  fame  with  this 
book,  which,  from  the  depth  of  my  retreat,  I  send 
forth  to  the  judgment  of  the  public  ;  but  as  I  cherish 
the  hope  that  the  vicissitudes  of  a  life  commenced  so 
modestly,  and  the  course  I  have  accomplished,  may 
serve  for  emulation  and  example  to  the  young,  who, 
having  a  serious  vocation  for  the  theatrical  art,  desire 
to  face  its  difficulties  and  hardships. 


JOURNEY  ROUND  THE  WORLD.  1 39 

One  duty  alone  remains  to  me,  that  of  reaching 
out  a  friendly  hand  to  my  faithful  companions  in 
arms ;  to  those  who  followed  me  across  both  worlds, 
and  to  those  who  have  helped  and  contributed  to  our 
victories. 


I 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MARY    STUART. 

As  the  object  of  this  work  is  a  purely  artistic  one, 
and  as,  therefore,  it  does  not  come  within  its  scope  to 
discuss  the  various  and  most  contradictory  opinions 
which  have  been  held  by  so  many  celebrated  authors 
during  the  last  three  centuries  about  the  guilt  or  inno- 
cence of  the  unfortunate  Mary  Stuart,  I  will  only 
say  that,  for  my  own  part,  I  was  so  convinced  she 
had  been  the  victim  of  undeserved  cruelty  and  perse- 
cution, that  I  had  no  difhculty  in  forming  my  idea 
of  her  character.  All  the  facts  which  a  close  study 
of  her  history  brought  to  my'knowledge  confirmed 
me  in  the  conviction  I  had  always  felt,  that  Mary 
Stuart  was  the  victim  of  her  own  extraordinary  beau- 
ty, her  own  personal  fascination,  and  her  fervent 
Roman  Catholicism.  That  she  was  guilty  of  some 
indiscretions,  which  would  probably  have  passed 
unnoticed  in  another  woman,  I  do  not  attempt  to 
deny ;  but  they  were  certainly  made  the  most  of  by 
those  whose  interest  it  was  to  ruin  the  unfortunate 
queen.  Her  enemies  failed  to  take  into  account 
either  her  youth  or  the  circumstances  of  the  times  in 
which  she  lived,  and  her  juvenile  frivolities  have 
served  as  a  foundation  for  many  serious  charges 
which  have  been  brought  against  her.  Her  girlish 
imprudences  have  been  painted  in  the  darkest  colors. 
(140) 


MARY  ST  CI  ART. 


141 


It  is  my  firm  belief  tliat  the  gravest  of  these  charges 
— such,  for  example,  as  her  connivance  at  the  murder 
of  her  husband — were  embellished  and  distorted  and 
magnified  by  her  enemies  to  suit  their  own  purposes 
and  compass  her  destruction. 

Every  one  knows  how,  in  order  that  Mary  might 
have  no  chance  of  defeating  their  machinations,  she 
was  kept  a  close  prisoner  for  nineteen  years,  during 
which  time  she  endeavored  repeatedly,  by  means  of 
letters,  appeals  and  petitions,  to  obtain  an  opportunity 
of  justifying  herself  before  Elizabeth  and  the  English 
Parliament,  and  disproving  the  accusations  made 
against  her.  But  all  her  efforts  were  useless;  and, 
surely,  in  their  failure  may  be  found  a  proof  that  her 
persecutors  feared  to  grant  her  request,  lest  she 
should  succeed  in  convincing  every  one  of  her  in- 
nocence. 

And  what  chance  had  she  of  exposing  the  conspir- 
acy against  her,  when  her  voice  was  silenced  in  a 
prison,  when  all  assistance  was  denied  her,  when 
every  effort  she  made  only  involved  her  more  deeply 
in  a  maze  of  intrigue ;  when  nineteen  out  of  her 
forty-four  years  of  life  were  passed  in  humiliating  and 
miserable  confinement. 

The  testimony  of  many  historians  proves  that  the 
conduct  of  this  unhappy  princess,  from  her  infancy 
up  to  the  death  of  Darnley,  was  without  reproach.  I 
fail  to  see,  therefore,  how  such  a  woman  as  Mary 
Stuart,  gentle,  cultivated,  fascinating  and  endowed 
with  the  most  estimable  qualities,  could,  in  a  moment, 
leave  the  paths  of  virtue  for  those  of  vice,  could  so 
completely  forget  herself  as  to  commit  crimes  worthy 


142  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

only  of  the  most  depraved  nature.     Yet  this  is  what 
her  inhuman  persecutors  would  have  us  believe. 

The  real  reason  of  all  her  sufferings  was  that,  from 
infancy  upwards,  she  had  been  guilty  of  three  great 
and  unpardonable  sins.  She  was  the  legitimate 
queen,  she  was  a  devoted  Roman  Catholic,  and  she 
was  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  century. 

These  considerations,  however,  only  sufficed  to 
increase  my  sympathy  with  the  unfortunate  Queen, 
and  I  devoted  all  my  abilities  to  a  close  study  of  her 
character,  seeking  to  bring  out  in  strong  relief  the 
nobility  of  her  disposition,  the  dignity  of  the  outraged 
sovereign,  the  sufferings  of  the  oppressed  victim,  and 
the  resignation  of  the  martyr. 

I  was  helped  in  this  attempt  by  the  care  with  which 
I  had  studied  the  historical  period  during  which  she 
lived,  and  by  the  investigations  I  had  already  made 
while  preparing  the  part  of  Elizabeth.  And  it  is  my 
profound  conviction  that  no  generous,  impartial  and 
sympathetic  mind  can  fail  to  be  touched  by  the  sad 
story  of  poor  Mary  Stuart,  who  was  an  ornament  to 
her  sex,  and  who  was  driven  to  the  scaffold  by  the 
mad  jealousy  of  her  rival,  and  by  a  long-continued 
course  of  cruel  persecution. 

***** 

Before  entering  upon  any  analysis  of  my  acting  in 
the  character  of  Mary  Stuart,  I  think  it  may  interest 
the  reader  to  give  a  short  account  of  the  circumstances 
which  first  led  me  to  undertake  this  most  important 
part. 

Few  persons  would  believe  that  the  representation 
of   the  heroine  in  such  a  celebrated   and   world-re- 


MARY  STUART.  I43 

nowned  tragedy  as  this  of  Schiller's  could  have  been 
confided  to  a  girl  of  eighteen,  who  then,  for  the  first 
time,  assumed  the  part  of  prima  donna  (first  lady), 
this  Italian  term  not  being  confined  to  the  principal 
singer  in  the  opera,  but  also  meaning  first  actress. 
But  in  Italy  such  is  often  the  case.  A  manager 
{capocomicd)  engages  an  actress  whom  he  considers 
suitable  both  in  appearance  and  talent  for  the  leading 
parts  without  considering  her  age. 

When  my  engagement  with  the  Royal  Sardinian 
Company  ended,  I  joined  that  of  Romoaldo  Mas- 
cherpa  in  the  service  of  the  Duchess  of  Parma,  as 
first  actress. 

Now,  although  my  four  years'  experience  with  the 
Royal  Sardinian  Company  had  made  me  quite  at 
home  upon  the  stage,  yet  the  parts  allotted  to  me  had 
always  been  such  as  were  suited  to  my  years.  When 
my  father  arranged  for  me  to  join  Mascherpa  he  never 
dreamed  that  a  travelling  company  would  attempt 
tragedy,  or  that  I  should  have  any  responsibilities 
beyond  my  years.  Instead  of  this,  however,  the 
capocomico  at  once  assigned  me  the  most  difficult  and 
important  parts,  which  would  have  generally  been 
played  by  a  much  older  and  more  experienced  actress. 
My  manager  was  an  excellent  old  man,  but  his  ar- 
tistic abilities  were  of  the  most  ordinary  kind.  He 
knew  he  was  quite  within  his  rights  in  giving  me 
these  parts  if  he  chose  to  do  so ;  and,  as  for  me,  I 
was  simply  expected  to  play  them. 

He  began  to  entrust  me  with  the  most  important, 
and  some  of  these  I  had  not  even  seen  acted.  My 
teacher,  Carlotta  Marchionni,  of  the  Royal  Sardinian 


144  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Company,  having  either  given  them  up  owing  to  ad- 
vancing years,  or  never  having  played  them ;  so  that 
1  had  not  even  the  advantage  of  her  example  to  aid 
my  inexperience.  I  first  began  to  study  the  part  of 
Mary  Stuart  in  Trent.  I  was  in  despair.  I  felt  cer- 
tain I  should  fail ;  and  neither  my  growing  favor  with 
the  public,  which  I  attributed  entirely  to  my  youth 
and  personal  appearance,  nor  the  assurances  of  my 
friends  and  relatives,  sufficed  to  encourage  me.  But 
as  there  could  be  no  question  of  not  fulfilling  my 
obligations,  I  recommended  myself  to  the  protection 
of  all  the  saints  and  angels,  and  applied  myself  res- 
olutely not  only  to  master  Andrea  Maffei's  beautiful 
verses,  but  also  to  make  myself  well  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  the  unfortunate  Queen  and  of  her 
times.  But  for  this  I  had  scarcely  any  time,  as  I  had 
also  to  superintend  the  preparation  of  my  costume. 
I  had,  indeed,  played  some  minor  parts  in  tragedy 
while  I  was  with  the  Royal  Sardinian  Company,  but 
none  approaching  to  this  in  importance.  It  was 
thought  that  I  had  a  natural  aptitude  for  such  parts, 
but  still  required  both  experience  and  practice  to 
make  me  perfect.  I  had  no  idea  that  I  should  begin 
with  an  undertaking  of  such  magnitude. 

I  need  not  say  that  I  never  closed  my  eyes  the 
night  before  my  first  performance.  I  was  in  a  fever  1 
I  felt  I  should  fail !  The  public  would  be  unfavor- 
able !  The  eyes  which  I  knew  would  be  fixed  upon 
me  seemed  to  my  excited  imaginatibn  knives  piercing 
my  heart.  When  I  dozed  for  an  instant  my  dreams 
were  worse  than  my  waking  thoughts.  Alas  !  a  thou- 
sand voices  seemed  to  be  whispering  in  my  ear : — 


MARY  STUART.  I45 

"You  will  never  succeed  ;  the  curtain  will  fall  in  the 
midst  of  a  dead  silence,  and  not  a  single  friendly  hand 
will  applaud  you  !  "  My  heart  beat  violently,  a  cold 
perspiration  covered  my  forehead. 

When  my  dear  mother  came  at  last  to  rouse  me 
from  these  uneasy  slumbers,  the  light  of  the  sun 
dissipated  at  once,  the  kind  of  incubus  which  had 
haunted  me  during  the  darkness. 

The  evening  I  had  so  much  dreaded  at  last  arrived ! 
The  public  knew  my  trepidation,  and  the  efforts  I 
had  made,  and  were  leniently  disposed  towards  me. 
From  my  first  entrance  upon  the  stage  the  audience 
perceived  the  care  with  which  I  had  studied  that 
character — a  study  which  according  to  the  Italian 
custom  at  that  time,  especially  in  the  travelling  com- 
panies, was  done  in  a  hurry.  The  appropriate  cos- 
tume, the  historical  head-gear,  my  slender  figure,  the 
oval  shape  and  pallor  of  my  face — the  latter  due,  in 
great  part,  to  the  agitation  from  which  I  was  suffering 
— my  fair  hair,  and,  in  fact,  my  entire  appearance, 
which  recalled  many  of  the  traits  of  the  unfortunate 
Mary,  immediately  gained  me  the  sympathy  of  my 
audience,  and  a  burst  of  spontaneous  applause  at 
once  encouraged  me  and  assured  me  of  their  in- 
dulgence. 

I  played  as  well  as  I  could,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
third  act,  which  is  the  culminating  point  of  the  play, 
I  was  called  before  the  curtain  several  times,  and 
greeted  with  the  most  flattering  acclamations  from  all 
sides  of  the  house.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had 
conquered  the  world,  and  I  had  not  a  doubt  that  my 
capocomico  would  be  equally  proud  of  me,  and  would 


146  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

lose  no  time  in  congratulating  me,  and  expressing 
his  great  satisfaction  at  the  result  of  the  experiment. 

Judge  then  of  my  chagrin  when,  upon  my  asking 
him  with  girlish  vanity :  "  I  hope  you  are  content 
now,  are  you  not  ?  "  the  good  old  man  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  with  a  provoking 
smile  of  pitying  indulgence  answered  me :  "  Believe 
me,  my  dear  little  one,  you  have  a  marked  turn  for 
comedy,  but,  as  for  tragedy  ! — don't  be  offended  with 
me  for  saying  it — it  is  not  for  you,  and  I  advise  you 
to  abandon  it  entirely." 

It  is  true  enough  that  I  was  fond  of  comedy ;  but, 
in  after  years,  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say  that  I 
was  credited  with  some  success  in  tragedy  also. 

These  words  from  my  capocomico  completely  para- 
lyzed me. 

Certainly,  I  did  not  then  interpret  the  part  as 
further  study  and  ripened  experience  enabled  me 
afterwards  to  do ;  of  course,  being  aware  of  what  the 
public  expected  of  me,  I  thenceforward  set  to  work 
to  analyze  most  carefully  and  minutely  every  situation 
in  the  play  connected  with  Queen  Mary ;  and  the 
great  sympathy  and  pity  with  which  her  sad  history 
filled  me  notwithstanding  my  youth,  spurred  me  on 
in  my  investigation  into  every  detail  of  her  unhappy 
life. 

I  quickly  grew  to  understand,  also,  what  an  im- 
portant part  the  expression  of  my  face,  my  carriage, 
and  my  demeanor  must  play  in  the  representation 
of  Mary  Stuart.  The  public  ought  immediately  to 
understand  what  they  are  called  upon  to  judge.  I 
felt  that  I  must  frame  mv  countenance  to  resemble 


MARY  STUART.  I47 

that  of  a  woman  in  whom  much  suffering  and  many- 
persecutions  had  not  been  able  to  extinguish  the 
strength  of  mind  that  enabled  her  to  bear  the  afflic- 
tions which  beset  her  through  life,  yet  who,  withal, 
never  forgot  the  dignity  due  to  her  rank,  nor  lost 
the  faith  which  enabled  her  to  bear  so  heroically 
the  hand  of  God  in  the  heavy  afflictions  of  her  later 
days. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  an  air  of  patience  and  resig- 
nation that  I  listened  while  my  faithful  Anna  Kennedy 
told  me  how  Paulet  had  rudely  forced  open  my  strong 
box,  and  rifled  it  of  the  papers,  jewels,  and  even  the 
crown  of  France,  which  Mary  had  carefully  preserved 
as  precious  memorials  of  her  past  grandeur.  And  I 
answered  her  without  a  moment's  discomposure,  as 
though  to  prove  that  earthly  vanities  now  counted 
for  nothing  with  me — 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  Anna!  and  believe  me, 
'Tis  not  these  baubles  which  can  make  a  Queen : 
Basely  indeed  they  may  behave  to  us. 
But  they  cannot  debase  us.     I  have  learnt 
To  use  myself  to  many  a  change  in  England ; 
I  can  support  this  too." 

Then,  turning  to  Paulet,  but  still  maintaining  my 
calm  and  dignified  demeanor,  I  addressed  him  in 
similar  terms  ;  while  I  met  with  angelic  patience  the 
scarcely  concealed  indignation  of  Anna  at  seeing  me 
thus  treated  by  my  rough  jailer. 

I  ventured,  however,  in  accordance  with  my  own 
deep  conviction,  though  contrary  to  that  of  Schiller, 
to  lay  little  emphasis  on  the  lines  in  which  the  poet 
makes  Mary  accuse  herself  of  complicity  in  the  mur- 


148  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

der  of  Darnley,  as  it  is  evident  that  Schiller  was  led 
into  this  belief  by  the  historians  Hume  and  Buchanan, 
who  were  Mary's  avowed  enemies. 

In  the  scene  between  the  Queen  and  Mortimer,  I 
showed  how,  amidst  all  my  troubles,  a  gleam  of  hope 
did  now  and  then  spring  up  in  my  heart ;  and  my 
eyes  brightened  at  the  possibility  of  my  liberation. 
But  as  I  glanced  round  my  apartment,  the  sight  of 
the  grim  walls  which  encircled  me,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  my  miserable  state,  quenched  the  feeble, 
spark  before  it  had  well  begun  to  burn.  To  Mortimer 
I  laid  bare  my  whole  heart,  for  I  saw  in  him  a  minis- 
tering angel  sent  by  God  for  my  deliverance.  Very 
different,  however,  was  my  demeanor  when  I  was 
visited  by  the  perfidious  Cecil,  Lord  Burleigh,  the 
Minister  and  evil  counsellor  of  Elizabeth, 

When  he  appeared,  followed  by  Paulet,  to  announce 
my  sentence,  I  summoned  all  my  royal  dignity  to  my 
aid,  in  order  to  confound  and  humiliate  my  persecu- 
tors. Hearing  myself  accused  by  Burleigh  in  most 
insolent  tones  of  being  an  accomplice  in  the  conspir- 
acy of  Babington,  and  of  rebellion  against  the  laws 
of  England,  I  assumed  all  the  haughtiness  of  an 
offended  Queen,  of  a  calumniated  woman,  of  an 
oppressed  stranger,  and  replied — 

"  Every  one  who  stands  arraigned  of  crime 
Shall  plead  before  a  jury  of  his  equals. 
Who  is  my  equal  in  this  high  commission  ? 
Kings  only  are  my  equals !  " 

Burleigh  went  on  to  argue  that  I  had  already  heard 
the  accusations  brought  against  me  in  a  court  of 
justice,  that  I  lived  under  English  skies,  and  breathed 


MARY  STUART.  ■  I49 

English  air ;  that  I  was  protected  by  English  laws, 
and  ought  therefore  to  respect  the  decrees  of  my 
judges.  But  I  suddenly  turned  upon  him  with  a 
frown,  and  replied  in  a  mocking  voice — 

"  Sir,  I  breathe 
The  air  within  an  English  prison  wall. 
Is  that  to  live  in  England  :  to  enjoy 
Protection  from  its  laws  ?     I  scarcely  know, 
And  never  have  I  pledged  my  faith  to  keep  them. 
I  am  no  member  of  this  realm  ;  I  am 
An  independent,  and  a  foreign  Queen." 

Continuing  in  the  same  tone,  I  refuted,  one  by 
one,  the  false  and  subtle  accusations  which  he  made 
against  me.  But  seeing  at  last  how  useless  were  all 
my  efforts  at  exculpation,  and  convinced  that  it  was 
in  vain  to  adduce  any  proof  of  my  innocence,  when 
might  was  evidently  to  take  the  place  of  right,  I 
ended  in  a  voice  which,  despite  all  my  efforts,,  betray- 
ed some  of  the  emotion  I  felt — 

"  'Tis  well,  my  lord ;  let  her  then  use  her  power ; 
Let  her  destroy  me  :   let  me  bleed  that  she 
May  live  secure  :  but  let  her  then  confess 
That  she  hath  exercised  her  power  alone. 
And  not  contaminate  the  name  of  justice." 

But  here  the  feeling  of  bitterness  which  I  could  no 
longer  restrain  made  itself  manifest  in  the  inflection 
I  gave  to  the  following  words — 

"  Let  her  not  borrow,  from  the  laws,  the  sword 
To  rid  her  of  her  hated  enemy  ; 
Let  her  not  clothe,  in  this  religious  garb, 
The  bloody  daring  of  licentious  might. 
Let  not  these  juggling  tricks  deceive  the  world." 

Here,  giving  full  and  free  vent  to  my  indignation, 


150 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 


I  turned  with  an  expression  of  contempt  upon  those 
who  were  so  eager  to  humiliate  my  royal  powers, 
saying — 

"  Though  she  may  murder  me  she  cannot  judge. 
Let  her  no  longer  strive  to  join  the  fruits 
Of  vice  with  virtue's  fair  and  angel  show. 
But  what  she  is  in  truth,  that  let  her  dare 
To  show  herself  in  face  of  all  the  world." 

And,  with  a  glance  of  unutterable  scorn  at  Burleigh, 
I  hurriedly  quitted  the  stage. 

The  author  has  introduced  this  scene  most  appro- 
priately, in  order  to  give  an  idea  of  the  tension  of 
mind  of  which  Mary  Stuart  was  the  victim  ;  and  in- 
terpreting the  execution  from  this  point  of  view,  I 
followed,  with  look  and  accent,  the  growth  of  the 
intricate  web  that  was  being  spun  around  me. 

The  third  act  plainly  shows  how  a  most  noble  and 
elevated  soul,  full  of  religious  enthusiasm  and  resigna- 
tion, may  yet  be  goaded  beyond  the  limits  of  human 
endurance  by  the  insolence  and  malice  of  persecu- 
tors. 

Followed  by  my  faithful  Anna,  I  entered  the  pleas- 
ant park  with  a  quick  step,  intoxicated  by  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  air,  which  not  only  chased  the  pallor 
from  my  cheek  but  gave  my  enfeebled  body  fresh 
vigor.  Identifying  myself  with  the  situation,  and 
endeavoring  to  draw  on  the  spectator  to  share  in  the 
same  emotion,  I  made  evident  the  delight  which 
momentarily  possessed  me,  and  which  afforded  such 
a  painful  contrast  to  the  terrible  sufferings  to  which 
Mary  Stuart  was  subjected  at  that  time  ;  and  to  prove 
the  reasonableness  and  truth  of  this  interpretation, 


A/A/?V  STUART.  151 

it  will  be  enough  to  follow  me  carefully  in  the  decla- 
mation of  the  next  lines — 

"  Freedom  returns !     O  let  me  enjoy  it. 
Freedom  invites  me  I     O  let  me  employ  it. 
Skimming  with  winged  step  light  o'er  the  lea; 
Have  I  escaped  from  this  mansion  of  mourning  1 
Holds  me  no  more  the  sad  dungeon  of  care  1 
Let  me  with  joy  and  eagerness  burning, 
Drink  in  the  free,  the  celestial  air ! 
Thanks  to  these  friendly  trees,  that  hide  from  me 
My  prison  walls,  and  flatter  my  illusion  1 
Happy  I  now  may  dream  myself,  and  free ; 
Why  wake  me  from  my  dreams  so  sweet  confusion  "i 
The  extended  vault  of  heaven  around  me  lies. 
Free  and  unfettered  range  my  wandering  eyes 
O'er  space's  vast  immeasurable  sea ! 
From  where  yon  misty  mountains  rise  on  high, 
I  can  my  empire's  boundaries  explore. 
And  those  light  clouds  which,  steering  southward,  fly, 
Seek  the  mild  clime  of  France's  genial  shore. 
Fast  fleeting  clouds ;  ye  meteors  that  fly ; 
Could  I  but  sail  with  you  through  the  sky  I 
Tenderly  greet  the  dear  land  of  my  youth ! 
Here  I  am  captive !     Oppressed  by  my  foes, 
No  other  than  you  can  carry  my  woes. 
Free  thro'  the  ether  your  pathway  is  seen, 
Ye  own  not  the  power  of  this  tyrant  Queen." 

But  this  joyous  abandonment  of  soul  speedily  gave 
place  to  the  most  terrible  emotions.  Hearing  of  the 
interview  so  unexpectedly  accorded  me  by  Elizabeth 
(although  entirely  invented  by  Schiller,  forming  the 
culminating  point  of  this  act),  an  instant  I  trembled 
from  head  to  foot.  I  would  fain  have  fied  away  from 
the  dreaded  ordeal.  Nothing  can  better  describe 
my   state   than   the   following  lines,   with   which   I 


152 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 


answered  the  affectionate  entreaties  of  Talbot,  who 
tried  every  argument  he  could  think  of  to  induce  me 
to  meet  my  rival — 

"  For  years  I've  waited,  and  prepared  myself  ; 
For  this  I've  studied,  weigli'd  and  written  down 
Each  word  within  the  tablet  of  my  memory, 
That  was  to  touch,  and  move  her  to  compassion. 
Forgotten  suddenly,  effaced  is  all, 
And  nothing  lives  within  me  at  this  moment. 
But  the  fierce  burning  feeling  of  my  wrongs. 
My  heart  is  turned  to  direst  hate  against  her ; 
All  gentle  thoughts,  all  sweet  forgiving  words, 
Are  gone,  and  round  me  stand  with  grisly  mien 
The  fiends  of  hell,  and  shake  their  snaky  locks  !  " 

Then,  touched  by  the  persuasive  words  and  affec- 
tionate advice  of  Talbot,  that  I  should  have  an  inter- 
view with  Elizabeth  ;  with  a  more  tranquil  mind,  but 
in  tones  of  the  deepest  sadness,  I  said — 

"  Oh  !  this  can  never,  never  come  to  good  ! " 

The  fear  lest  Burleigh,  her  bitter  enemy,  should 
accompany  Elizabeth  on  her  visit  to  Fotheringay 
added  greatly  to  Mary's  perturbation.  When  she 
heard  from  Talbot  that  Leicester  alone  would  attend 
his  sovereign,  she  could  not  refrain  from  a  cry  of 
joy,  which  was  instantly  checked  by  the  faithful 
Anna,  but  passed  unheeded  by  Talbot,  intently  watch- 
ing for  the  arrival  of  Elizabeth.  When  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  I  retired  in  terror  to  the  back  of  the 
stage,  seeking  to  hide  myself  among  the  trees  and 
shrubs  while  intently  watching  the  expression  of  her 
countenance. 

After  this,  hearing  the  words  which  Elizabeth  in 
her  egregious  vanity  addressed  to  her  suite,  with  the 


MARY  STUART.  1 53 

evident  intention  that  they  should  reach  my  ears,  and 
impress  me — her  unfortunate  prisoner — with  the  ado- 
ration she  was  held  in  by  her  people,  I  murmured  in 
a  voice  of  the  deepest  sadness — 

"  Oh,  God !  from  out  these  features  speaks  no  heart ! " 
Meanwhile  Anna  and  Talbot,  with  the  most  sup- 
plicating gestures,  sought  to  encourage  me  to  approach 
and  prostrate  myself  before  Elizabeth.  At  first  I 
visibly  resisted  all  their  entreaties,  but  at  last  con- 
sented, though  with  an  evident  effort,  and  turned 
with  faltering  steps  towards  the  Queen.  I  had  now 
made  up  my  mind  to  kneel  before  her,  though  I  let  it 
be  seen  how  greatly  the  sense  of  my  own  dignity 
caused  me  to  rebel  against  such  a  humiliation.  But 
before  my  knees  touched  the  ground,  my  whole 
nature  seemed  to  revolt  against  such  an  act.  I 
started  back  in  an  attitude  which  said  more  plainly 
than  words,  "I  cannot  do  it,"  and  turned  to  take 
refuge  in  the  arms  of  my  attendant,  Anna.  She, 
however,  sank  on  her  knees  before  me,  and  besought 
me  by  my  holy  religion,  and  by  the  overwhelming 
force  of  circumstances,  not  to  persist  in  my  refusal. 
At  last,  overcome  by  her  entreaties,  I  raised  her  ten- 
derly from  the  ground  ;  and,  intimating  by  my  gesture 
the  tremendous  sacrifice  I  made  in  consenting  to  her 
request,  with  a  deep  sigh  I  exclaim — 

"  Wei] !  be  it  so  !     To  this  I  will  submit." 

Then  with  an  intonation  of  voice  suitable  to  the 
words,  I  spoke  the  following  lines — 

"  Farewell  high  thoughts,  and  pride  of  noble  mind  I 
I  will  forget  my  dignity,  and  all 


154  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

My  sufferings ;  I  will  fall  before  her  feet 
Who  hath  reduced  me  to  this  wretchedness.' 

While  I  uttered  the  words  I  lifted  my  eyes  to 
heaven  and  pressed  to  my  lips  the  crucifix  I  wore 
attached  to  a  rosary  at  my  side,  as  though  offering  to 
God  the  sacrifice  I  was  about  to  make  of  my  own 
personal  dignity.  Then,  pausing  for  a  moment,  as  if 
in  rapt  meditation,  to  invoke  God  to  grant  me  that 
strength  and  courage  of  which  I  stood  so  much  in 
need,  I  addressed  Elizabeth  in  a  firm  voice — 

"The  God  of  heav'n  decides  for  you,  my  sister, 
Your  happy  brows  are  now  with  triumph  crowned." 

Here  I  stopped  for  an  instant,  expressing  by  my 
marked  hesitation  how  grave  a  matter  it  was  for  me 
to  add,  by  my  abasement,  to  my  haughty  sister's 
pride.  Then,  as  if  by  a  sudden  inspiration,  I  knelt 
before  her  and  cried  out  impetuously — 

"  I  worship  Him  who  to  His  height  has  raised  you. 

It  is  clear  that  in  this  most  felicitous  passage  the 
author  wanted  to  show  the  public  that  it  is  not  before 
her,  but  before  the  Supreme  Being,  that  Mary  humil- 
iates herself.  After  a  short  pause,  and  in  a  suppli- 
cating tone  of  voice,  I  continued — 

"But  in  your  turn  be  merciful,  my  sister; 
Let  me  not  lie  before  you  thus  disgraced ;  . 
Stretch  forth  your  hand,  your  royal  hand,  to  raise 
Your  sister  from  her  deep  distress." 

At  an  authoritative  yet  condescending  sign  from 
Elizabeth  I  rose,  sighing  heavily.  Then,  in  a  re- 
signed, submissive  tone  I  went  on  to  reply  to  the 
charges  made  against  me.     I  enumerated  the  various 


MARY  STUART.  155 

acts  of  injustice  from  which  I  had  suffered ;  and  I 
called  God  to  witness  that  in  spite  of  myself  I  was 
constrained  to  accuse  her  of  complicity  in  them.  I 
pointed  out  that  she  had  treated  me  neither  fairly  nor 
honorably ;  that,  although  I  was  her  equal  in  rank, 
she  had,  in  defiance  of  the  rights  of  nations  and  of 
the  laws  of  hospitality,  taken  no  notice  of  the  assist- 
ance asked  from  her,  but  had  shut  me  up  in  a  living 
tomb,  deprived  me  of  my  friends  and  servants,  and 
filled  up  the  measure  of  her  insults  by  dragging  me 
before  her  arrogant  tribunals.  Here  a  gesture  of 
resentment  from  Elizabeth  recalled  me  to  myself.  I 
changed  my  tone  entirely,  for  I  realized  how  I  had 
been  involuntarily  carried  away  by  my  feelings,  and 
I  added — 

"  No  more  of  this ; 
Now  stand  we  face  to  face ;  now,  sister,  speak : 
Name  but  my  crime,  I'll  fully  satisfy  you," 

To  which  the  inhuman  Elizabeth  made  answer — 

"  Accuse  not  fate  !  your  own  deceitful  heart 
It  was,  the  wild  ambition  of  your  house ; 
As  yet  no  enmities  had  passed  between  us, 
When  your  imperious  uncle,  the  proud  priest, 
Whose  shameless  hand  grasps  at  all  crowns,  attacked  me 
With  unprovok'd  hostility,  and  taught 
You,  but  too  docile,  to  assume  my  arms, 
To  vest  yourself  with  my  imperial  title." 

Dismayed  at  hearing  the  tone  of  contempt  with  which 
Elizabeth  spoke  of  the  Pontifif  (Pius  V.),  and  at  find- 
ing herself  charged  with  faults  she  had  never  com- 
mitted, and  conspiracies  in  which  she  had  never 
engaged,  Mary  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  exclaim- 
ing— 


1 56  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

"  I'm  in  the  hand  of  God  1 " 
and  then  addressed  Elizabeth  : — 

"  But  you  never  will 
Exert  so  cruelly  the  power  it  gives  you." 

To  which  Elizabeth  replied  in  an  arrogant  tone — 

"  Who  shall  prevent  me  ! " 

I  omitted  no  opportunity  throughout  this  scene  of 
showing  the  torture  I  was  undergoing  from  Eliza- 
beth's injurious  treatment.  Now  I  implored,  by  a 
gesture,  the  aid  of  Heaven;  now  I  sought  comfort 
from  Talbot  by  a  look  which  entreated  him  to  become 
the  judge  of  the  iniquitious  provocation  I  was  endur- 
ing from  my  rival.  I  was  on  the  point  of  putting  my 
anger  into  words,  when  she  said  to  me  with  all  the 
venom  of  a  serpent — 

"  Force  is  my  only  surety  :  no  alliance 
Can  be  concluded  with  a  race  of  vipers." 

At  this  I  tottered  as  though  I  was  about  to  fall. 
Both  Anna  and  Talbot  ran  forward  to  support  me. 
I  thanked  them  affectionately  with  expressive  gest- 
ures, and  signed  them  to  retire  as  the  moment  of  my 
weakness  was  past.  But,  convinced  by  the  harsh, 
haughty  and  insolent  tone  Elizabeth  employed,  that 
she  never  would  acknowledge  either  my  innocence  or 
my  legitimate  rights,  which  I  now  saw  I  should  be 
compelled  to  renounce  forever,  I  turned  my  head 
slowly  away  from  her,  with  a  fixed,  penetrating  look, 
accompanied  by  a  slightly  ironical  smile  which  seemed 
to  say :  "  You  are  vilely  abusing  the  power  which 
superior  strength  has  given  you  over  your  unarmed 
prisoner." 


MARY  STUART.  15/ 

Then  a  sudden  impulse  of  revolt  against  my  evil 
destiny  led  me  to  question  Heaven,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  surpassing  bitterness,  vi'hether  I  had  really 
deserved  such  misfortunes  ?  But  the  religious  senti- 
ment within  me  came  to  my  aid.  I  besought  pardon 
of  the  Supreme  Being  for  my  momentary  rebellion 
against  His  will,  and  I  inclined  my  head  in  meek 
submission,  like  a  creature  who  recognizes  the  immu- 
tability of  Providence,  and  accepts  the  martyrdom 
which  is  to  be  its  lot. 

And  entering  fully  into  the  conception  of  the  poet 
who  has  anatomized  the  character  of  this  unhappy 
creature,  I  interpreted  the  rapid  passage  from  resent- 
ment to  pathos,  as  though  the  humble  intonation  of 
the  words  were  the  expression  of  a  fleeting  hope  that 
she  might  be  able  to  move  her  rival  to  pity.  And, 
therefore,  it  was  with  a  tone  of  the  deepest  affection 
I  uttered  the  apostrophe,  "  Oh !  sister  !  "  in  the  hope 
that  I  should  excite  some  sympathy  in  her  heart. 
But  as,  according  to  the  intention  of  the  poet  and  the 
exigencies  of  history,  the  character  of  Elizabeth  is 
not  to  be  moved  by  Mary's  affectionate  entreaties, 
the  Queen,  with  a  contemptuous  look,  fixes  her  icy 
glance  upon  her  victim,  whereupon  the  latter  breaks 
forth — 

"  Rule  your  realm  in  peace  : 
I  give  up  every  claim  to  these  domains — 
Alas!  the  pinions  of  my  soul  are  lam'd; 
Greatness  entices  me  no  more  :  your  point 
Is  gained ;  I  am  but  Mary's  shadow  now — 
My  noble  spirit  is  at  last  broke  down 
By  long  captivity :  you've  done  your  worst 
On  me;  you  have  destroyed  me  in  my  bloom  I 


1^8  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Now  end  your  work,  my  sister ; — speak  at  length 
The  word  which  to  pronounce  has  brought  you  hither; 
For  1  will  ne'er  believe  that  you  are  come, 
To  mock  unfeelingly  your  hapless  victim. 
Pronounce  this  word  :  say  '  Mary,  you  are  free : 
You  have  felt  my  power — learn  now 
To  honor  too  my  generosity — ' 

Sister,  not  for  all  these  islands'  wealth, 
For  all  the  realms  encircled  by  the  deep 
Could  I  before  you  stand  inexorable 
In  mien,  as  you  now  show  yourself  to  me." 

And  I  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  These  just  and 
temperate  words,  far  from  convincing  Elizabeth, 
only  aroused  her  ire  and  increased  the  aversion  she 
had  always  felt  for  Mary.  Without  consideration 
for  the  rank  and  humiliation  of  her  rival,  she  reviled 
her  unrestrainedly  with  ferocious  satisfaction.  Re- 
minding her  of  her  lost  prestige,  she  asks  her — 

"Are  all  your  schemes  run 
Out  ?     No  more  assassins  on  the  road  ? 
Will  none  attempt  for  you  again 
The  sad  adventurous  achievement  ? " 

She  taunted  her  with  her  vanished  beauty  and  fasci- 
nation, and  ended  her  insults  by  saying  in  a  tone  of 
contempt — 

"  None  is  ambitious  of  the  dang'rous  honor 
Of  being  your  fourth  husband  :  you  destroy 
Your  wooers  like  your  husbands." 

At  such  a  base  outrage  my  face  betrayed  all  the  fury 
I  felt.  I  all  but  hurled  myself  upon  the  speaker,  cry- 
ing: "Sister!  sister!"  but  Talbot  and  Anna  ran  to 
me  and  held  me  back,  while  they  did  all  in  their 
power  to  calm  my  emotion.     With  a  superhuman 


MARY  STUART. 


159 


effort  at  self-control,  I  hurriedly,  and  with  convulsive 
grasp,  seized  the  crucifix  hanging  at  my  side  and 
pressed  it  to  my  heart,  exclaiming — 

"  Grant  me  forbearance,  all  ye  pow'rs  of  heaven." 

It  was  the  predominance  of  the  religious  sentiment 
which  came  in  as  if  unexpectedly  to  change  the  situ- 
ation. To  make  the  contrast  still  more  vivid,  Eliza- 
beth contemplated  me  with  sovereign  disdain,  deriding 
Leicester  for  having  constantly  declared  that  no  one 
could  look  on  Mary  Stuart  without  being  fascinated 
by  her,  and  that  no  other  woman  on  earth  was  her 
equal  in  beauty.  Then,  as  if  to  exceed  all  her  other 
insults,  she  said  with  an  insolent  smile — 

"  She  who  to  all  is  common,  may  with  ease 
Become  the  common  object  of  applause !  " 

At  this  all  restraint  became  impossible.  "  This  is 
too  much  ! "  I  cried  in  my  anger.  Elizabeth  heard 
me  with  a  diabolical  sneer,  and  interrupted  me — 

"  You  show  us  now  indeed 
Your  real  face  I     Till  now  'twas  but  the  mask  1 " 

I  attempted  to  answer  her,  but  wrath  choked  my 
utterance ;  my  face  was  distorted,  my  whole  body 
trembled.     At  length,  with  difficulty,  and  in  a  half- 
suffocated,  broken  voice,  I  began  to  speak — 
"  My  sins  were  human  and  my  youth  the  cause ; 

Superior  force  betray'd  me.     Never  have  I 

Denied,  or  to  conceal  it  sought." 
Then  beginning  to  recover  myself,  and  showing  that 
I  would  give  vent  to  the  rancor  so  long  pent  up  in 
my  breast,  eager  to  give  insult  for  insult  to  her  who 
had  so  grossly  outraged  me  before  everybody,  I  went 
on — 


l60  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

"Of  me  the  worst  is  known,  and  I  can  say 
That  I  am  better  than  the  fame  I  bear." 

Then,    advancing    towards   the   Queen,    I   cried    in 

accents  of  fury — 

"  But  woe  to  you  !  when  in  the  years  to  come, 
The  world  shall  rend  from  you  the  robe  of  honor, 
With  which  your  arch-hypocrisy  hath  veiled 
The  secret  raging  flames  of  lawless  lust." 

And  my  paroxysm  of  rage  reached  its  height  while, 
with  flashing  eyes,  I  hurled  at  her  the  lines — 

"  Virtue  was  not  your  portion  from  your  mother ; 
Well  know  we  the  foul  cause  that  brought  the  head 
Of  Anna  Boleyn  to  the  fatal  block !  " 

When  the  words  had  passed  my  lips  I  stood  im- 
movable for  a  moment,  looking  at  Elizabeth  with  a 
glance  that  seemed  almost  to  scorch  her,  and  show- 
ing by  my  attitude  what  joy  I  felt  in  having  thus  in 
my  turn  humiliated  my  enemy.  Elizabeth,  mortally 
wounded  at  my  insults,  was  to  glare  at  me  with  eyes 
of  savage  hatred,  Leicester  and  Paulet  to  run  towards 
her  endeavoring  to  pacify  her,  while  Talbot  and  Anna 
hurried  to  me  in  mortal  terror.  The  former,  whose 
age  and  faithful  devotion  for  so  many  years  gave  him 
the  right  to  speak,  began  to  remonstrate  with  me — 

"  Is  this  the  moderation,  the  submission  of  my  Lady!  " 

To  which,  now  quite  beside  myself,  I  answered — 

"  Moderation  !     I've  supported 
What  human  nature  can  support.     Farewell, 
Lamb-hearted  resignation,  passive  patience, 
Fly  to  thy  native  heaven  ;  burst  at  length 
Thy  bonds,  come  forward  from  thy  dreary  cave, 
In  all  thy  fury,  long  suppressed  rancor  ! 


MARY  STUART.  l6l 

And  thou,  who  to  the  anger'd  basilisk 

Impart'st  the  murd'rous  glance,  oh !  arm  my  tongue 

With  poison'd  darts  I  " 

Meanwhile  her  courtiers  gathered  round  Elizabeth, 
persuading  her  to  depart ;  while  I,  after  meditating 
in  my  own  mind  what  still  more  terrible  insult  I  could 
fling  at  her,  suddenly  faced  round  upon  the  English 
Queen  and  in  utter  recklessness  exclaimed — 

"  The  English  throne  is  sullied  by  a  bastard, 
The  noble  Britons  by  a  juggler  fool'd. 
If  right  prevailed,  you  now  would  in  the  dust 
Before  me  lie,  for  I  am  your  rightful  King." 

At  this  last  excess  I  stood  in  a  menacing  attitude 
looking  at  her.  Elizabeth  freed  herself  from  the 
grasp  of  Paulet  and  Leicester  and  endeavored  to  spring 
upon  me;  but,  with  all  the  authority  of  a  haughty 
sovereign,  I  waived  her  back  and  signed  to  her  im- 
periously to  leave,  which  Elizabeth  at  last  did,  in  a 
towering  passion,  her  courtiers  having  to  drag  her 
away,  as  it  were,  almost  by  force.  I  watched  her 
departing  footsteps  and  felt  that  I  had  vanquished 
her.  Seizing  Anna's  hand  in  a  transport  of  joy  at 
having  thus  obtained  my  revenge,  and  coming  for- 
ward to  the  front  of  the  stage,  I,  still  in  great  excite- 
ment, exclaimed — 

"  Within  her  heart  she  carries  death.     I  know  it. 
At  last  now  I  am  once  more  happy,  Anna, 
I  have  degraded  her  in  Leicester's  eyes  !  " 

This  idea  seemed  to  intoxicate  me,  and  with  fierce 
satisfaction  I  added — 

"  Oh  1  After  years  of  sorrow  and  abasement 
I've  felt  one  hour  of  triumph  and  revenge !  " 
II 


1 62  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

And  I  left  the  stage  in  an  agitated  manner,  followed 
by  Anna. 

From  all  the  observations  I  have  made,  the  reader 
will  perceive  that  in  the  third  Act,  which  forms  an 
important  part  of  the  drama,  I  aimed  above  all  else 
to  set  in  full  relief  the  great  contrast  between  the 
widely  different  characters  of  the  two  cousins,  who 
were  rivals  at  the  same  time :  one  being  unfortunate, 
while  the  other  was  omnipotent,  and  already  fixed  in 
the  cruel  intention  of  leaking  Mary  Stuart  her  victim. 

In  order  the  better  to  realize  the  justice  of  this 
interpretation  it  may  be  useful  to  recall  what  has 
already  been  observed,  namely,  that  the  meeting 
between  the  two  queens  was  boldly  introduced  by  the 
author,  precisely  that  it  might  give  him  an  opportunity 
of  profiting  by  the  certain  effect  of  the  contrast,  and 
of  bringing  to  light  the  stateliness  and  haughtiness 
of  Mary  Stuart,  who  knew  and  felt  herself  to  be  a 
queen. 

As  for  me,  I  was  careful  not  to  forget  to  give  suffi- 
cient prominence  to  the  religious  sentiment,  which 
was  an  essential  manifestation  that  could  not  separate 
itself  from  the  troubled  and  agitated  soul  of  woman. 

As  it  is  known  that  Mary  does  not  appear  in  the 
fourth  Act  I  pass  on  to  the  fifth. 

But  before  beginning  my  analysis,  I  wish  to  give 
my  reasons  for  disregarding  Schiller's  instructions 
about  her  dress  in  this  Act.  Many  different  accounts 
have  come  down  to  us  of  the  attire  in  which  she  ap- 
peared on  the  day  of  her  execution,  most  of  which 
seem  to  me  purely  imaginary.  Thus,  for  example, 
she  has  been  sent  to  the  scaffold  bv  some  authorities 


MARY  STUART.  1 63 

dressed  entirely  in  red.  Others  have  arrayed  her  in 
royal  robes.  Schiller  represents  her  as  wearing  a 
rich  white  gown,  a  crown  on  her  head,  and  a  long 
black  veil.  Now,  it  seems  to  me  this  latter  costume 
must  be  incorrect  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  it 
is  scarcely  likely  that  a  woman  who  had  been  made 
prisoner  in  the  flower  of  her  age,  when  all  the  im- 
pressions of  grief  are  most  profound,  and  who  had 
passed  from  a  throne  to  a  dungeon,  a  martyr  to  Faith 
could — after  nineteen  years  of  captivity  and  sorrow 
which  had  undermined  her  strength  until  she  was 
obliged  to  ask  support  from  Melville  when  she  tried 
to  mount  the  scaffold,  because  her  knees,  swollen  by 
the  damps  of  so  many  unhealthy  prisons,  refused  to 
carry  her — have  retained  so  much  vanity  as  to  try  and 
produce  an  effect  upon  the  minds  of  those  who  saw 
her  for  the  last  time.  Secondly,  Mary  could  not 
have  arrayed  herself  in  this  manner  without  the  con- 
sent of  Elizabeth.  Is  it  likely  that  the  latter  would 
have  allowed  her  rival  the  means  of  displaying  those 
undoubted  charms  which  had  done  more  than  any- 
thing else  to  excite  her  feelings  against  her,  even 
supposing  Mary  had  made  such  a  request  ?  And 
these  convictions  took  root  in  me  from  the  first  days 
in  which  I  began  to  study  and  guess  at  the  difBcult 
personality  of  Mary  Stuart. 

In  fact,  from  the  time  of  my  first  appearance  in 
this  character  of  the  unfortunate  queen,  I  had  adopted 
the  costume  which  seemed  to  me  most  strictly  histor- 
ical. By  a  very  fortunate  chance  I  found  myself  in 
London  in  1857,  the  year  in  which  the  Archasological 
Institution  had  a  grand  exhibition  of  all  the  relics 


l64  ADELAIDE  RISTORl. 

that  could  be  obtained  of  the  unhappy  Mary  Stuart. 
Tliis  exliibition  was  under  the  patronage  of  the  Prince 
Consort.  I  was  able  to  visit  it.  There  were  to  be 
found  many  precious  objects  which  had  belonged  to 
poor  Mary  up  to  the  last  hour  of  her  life,  and  which 
had  been  preserved  in  old  Scottish  Catholic  families 
devoted  to  the  hapless  queen.  Among  many  other 
things  I  especially  admired  the  white  and  blue  en- 
amel rosary  which  she  wore  (but  which  I,  to  produce 
a  better  scenic  effect,  had  made  entirely  in  gold), 
and  the  veil  that  covered  her  head  when  she  as- 
cended the  scaffold  which  was  a  tissue  of  thread  of 
gold  and  white  silk,  bordered  all  round  with  a  narrow 
white  lace,  and  having  the  royal  arms  in  each  of  its 
four  corners. 

Among  all  the  innumerable  pictures  which  repre- 
sented her  in  such  different  ways — one,  whose  au- 
thenticity is  undoubted,  because  it  was  executed  a 
few  days  after  Mary's  death,  struck  me  most  forcibly, 
and  I  can  see  it  still  with  my  mind's  eye.  It  rep- 
resented her  execution  at  Fotheringay  Castle,  and  is 
attributed  to  the  painter  Mytens.  She  is  standing, 
dressed  in  a  robe  of  black  stamped  velvet,  sur- 
mounted by  a  short  stircoat  without  sleeves,  according 
to  the  fashion  of  the  time.  A  white  xvSi  encircles 
her  neck.  On  her  head  she  has  a  white  coif,  Shaped 
like  the  cap  which  now  bears  her  name,  and  a  veil, 
also  white  like  that  which  I  have  described  above, 
covered  her  entirely  from  head  to  foot.  A  small 
ivory  crucifix  hangs  round  her  neck,  and  two  thin 
chains  hold  the  two  ends  of  the  surcoat  together 
across  her  breast. 


MAJ?y  STUART.  165 

In  one  word,  this  was  the  ideal  costume  I  had  al- 
ready imagined  for  the  part,  except  that  I  substituted 
a  black  coif  and  veil  for  the  white  ones,  in  the  belief 
that  by  so  doing  I  should  give  additional  effect  to  the 
scene. 

Mary,  as  represented  in  this  wonderful  picture,  has 
in  her  hand  a  crucifix,  at  the  bottom  of  which  is  a 
skull.  The  Queen,  with  outstretched  arms,  holds  the 
sacred  image  propped  upon  the  table,  on  the  cover 
of  which  in  the  front  part  the  artist  has  represented 
the  tremendous  scene  of  her  execution.  In  this  lat- 
ter picture  Mary  is  shown  kneeling  on  the  scaffold. 
Her  upper  garments  have  been  removed,  and  allow 
her  bodice  of  silk  damask  to  become  visible ;  and  it 
was  the  color  of  this  which  probably  gave  rise  to  the 
fantastic  accounts  I  had  heard  of  her  apparel.  A 
thin  streak  of  blood  trickled  from  her  neck,  which 
had  already  received  the  executioner's  first  blow. 
His  axe  was  uplifted  in  readiness  for  a  second  stroke. 
Several  noble  Lords  and  other  personages  are  pres- 
ent at  the  execution ;  and  in  the  background  her 
attendants,  the  three  faithful  Maries,  in  deepest  black. 
Three  Latin  inscriptions  complete  the  picture.  The 
first,  in  the  right  and  upper  corner,  runs  thus — 

"Reginam  serenissimam  regum  filiam  uxorem  et  matrem,  as- 
tantibus  commissariis  et  ministris  R.  Eliz. — carnifex  securi  per- 
cutit  atque  uno  et  altera  ictu  truculenter  sauciatae  tertio  caput 
abscindit." 

Which  may  be  translated — 

"  The  executioner  with  one  or  two  blows  of  his  axe,  smites 
the  most  noble  Queen,  the  daughter,  wife,  and  mother  of  kings — 
in  the  presence  of  the  ministers  and  commissioners  of  Queen 


l66  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Elizabeth ;  and,  after  cruelly  wounding  her,  with  a  third  stroke 
strikes  off  her  head." 

The  second  inscription,  below  the  figure  of  the  exe- 
cutioner, is  as  follows — 

"  Maria  Scotiae  Regina  Angliae  et  Hiberniae  vera  princeps 
et  haeres  legitima  Jacobi  magnae  Britanniae  Regis  mater,  quam 
suorum  haeresi  vexatam,  rebellione  oppressam,  refugii  causa 
verbo  Eliz.  Reginae  et  cognatae  inixam  in  Angliam,  an"  156S 
descendentem  19  annos  captivam  perfidia  detinuit:  milleque 
calumniis  Senatus  Angliae  sententia  haeresi  instigante  neci  trad- 
itur  ac  12  calend  Mart.  15S7  a  servili  carnifice  obtruncatur,  an° 
aetat  regniq.  45." 

Or  in  English — 

"  Mary,  Queen  of  Scotland,  the  true  and  legitimate  heir  to 
the  throne  of  England  and  Ireland,  mother  of  James,  King  of 
Great  Britain,  who,  vexed  by  the  heresy,  and  oppressed  by  the 
rebellion  of  her  subjects,  took  refuge  in  England  in  the  year 
1568,  confiding  in  the  word  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  her  cousin, 
was  kept  a  prisoner  by  her  perfidious  relative  for  nineteen 
years,  and,  after  undergoing  much  calumniation,  was  cruelly 
sentenced  by  the  English  Parliament,  which  was  provoked  by 
her  heresy,  and  was  put  to  death  by  the  hand  of  the  common 
executioner  on  the  i8th  February  15S7,  in  the  45th  year  of  her 
age  and  reign." 

The   third   inscription  was    beneath   the   figure   of 
Mary — 

"Sicfunestum  ascendit  tabulatum  Regina  quondam  Gallia- 
rum  et  Scotiae  florentissimae,  invicto  sed  pio  animo  tirannidem 
exprobat  et  perfidiam,  Fidem  catholicam  profitetur  Romanae 
Ecclesiae  semper  fuisse  et  esse  filiam  plane  palamq.  testatur." 

Or  in  English — 

"  Thus  ascended  the  terrible  scaffold,  she  who  was  Queen  of 
France,  and  of  flourishing  Scotland;  and  with  an  invincible, 
yet  pious  soul,  she  reproved  tyranny  and  perfidy,  confessed  the 


MA/?y  STUART.  167 

Catholic  faith,  and  openly  professed  that  she  was,  as  she  had 
ever  been,  a  devoted  daughter  of  the  Roman  Church." 

Returning  to  my  acting,  I  must  observe  first  of  all 
that  the  change  which  takes  place  between  the  third 
and  fifth  Act  must  always  greatly  strike  the  audience. 
The  dignity  of  my  carriage  was  the  only  sign  of 
royalty  remaining  to  me.  Every  trace  of  the  suffer- 
ings which  had  tormented  the  Queen  and  embittered 
her  existence  had  disappeared.  I  expressed  my 
wishes  and  communicated  my  orders  with  the  sweet- 
ness and  serenity  of  a  martyr  ;  so  that  when  I  pre- 
sented myself  to  my  attendants  at  the  threshold  of 
my  chamber,  they  were  impressed  with  as  much 
admiration  and  reverence  as  though  they  had  seen 
an  angel. 

A  long  black  veil  covered  me  from  head  to  foot. 
In  my  hand  I  held  a  crucifix  and  a  packet  sealed 
with  black  seals,  which  contained  my  last  will  and 
testament.  When  I  saw  the  sorrow  of  my  servants, 
whom  I  gently  reproved,  saying  that  they  ought 
rather  to  exult  in  the  prospect  of  my  speedy  deliver- 
ance, a  smile  was  on  my  face,  and  I  added  that  I 
regarded  death  as  a  friend.  When  I  recognized  my 
faithful  Melville  among  the  crowd,  I  felt  as  though 
he  had  been  specially  sent  by  Heaven  to  console  my 
last  hours;  for  now,  at  all  events,  a  true  and  unprej- 
udiced account  of  the  way  in  which  I  ended  my  life 
would  be  given  to  the  world.  All  the  directions  I 
gave  were  characterized  by  sweetness  and  affection. 
But  feeling  my  courage  failing,  and  being  unwilling 
to  prolong  this  sad  scene  any  longer,  I  at  length  said 
in  a  resolute  voice — 


l68  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

"  Come, 
Come  all,  and  now  receive  my  last  farewell." 

All  knelt  about  me.  The  sight,  however,  of  those 
mournful  faces,  of  those  arms  outstretched  towards 
me,  filled  me  with  deep  emotion,  and,  extending  my 
hands  above  their  kneeling  figures,  I  exclaimed — 

"  I  have  been 
Much  hated,  yet  have  been  much  beloved." 

Then  I  released  myself  from  them,  and  took  a 
last  sad  and  lingering  farewell  of  each  of  these  faith- 
ful hearts. 

Henceforth  I  belonged  not  to  the  world.  Every 
sentiment,  every  passion,  was  changed  and  trans- 
formed. My  only  remaining  regret  was  that  I  could 
not  enjoy  the  ministrations  of  a  priest  of  my  own 
faith— 

"A  priest  of  my  religion  is  denied  me, 
And  I  disdain  to  take  the  sacrament. 
The  holy,  heav'nly  nourishment,  from  priests 
Of  a  false  faith ;  I  die  in  the  belief 
Of  my  own  Church,  for  that  alone  can  save." 

It  was,  therefore,  with  transports  of  ineffable  joy 
that  I  discovered,  in  Melville  himself,  an  angel  sent 
by  God  to  absolve  me  from  my  sins,  and  give  me  his 
benediction.  With  a  cautious  glance  around  to  see 
that  no  one  was  likely  to  disturb  me,  I  took  the  cru- 
cifix, which  hung  from  my  girdle,  and  with  great 
compunction  knelt  before  Melville,  and  began  my 
confession  in  an  austere  voice.  With  words  which 
plainly  showed  my  sincerity,  I  accused  myself  of  hav- 
ing nourished  a  deep  hatred  against  my  enemies,  of 
having  meditated  revenge,  and  of  having  felt  utterly 


MAI?y  STUART.  i6g 

unable  to  pardon  her  who  had  so  fearfully  injured 
me.  But  where  I  was  wanting  in  spontaneity  was 
when  Melville  asked  me  if  there  were  no  other  errors 
which  lay  heavy  on  my  heart ;  I  replied — 

"  A  bloody  crime  of  ancient  date,  indeed, 
And  long  ago  confessed ;  yet  with  new  terrors 
It  now  attacks  me  ;  black  and  grisly,  steps 
Across  my  path,  and  shuts  the  gates  of  heav'n : 
By  my  connivance  fell  the  King,  my  husband ; 
I  gave  my  hand  and  heart  to  a  seducer — 
By  rigid  penance  I  have  made  atonement ; 
Yet  in  my  soul  the  worm  is  gnawing  still." 

I  always  disbelieved  many  of  the  accusations 
brought  against  Mary  by  her  numerous  and  powerful 
enemies,  and  I  make  this  observation  once  more  to 
prove  that  there  was  nothing  artificial  about  me. 
Thus,  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  represent  a 
situation  which  I  did  not  fully  comprehend,  and  could 
not  clearly  picture  to  my  own  mind.  For  this  rea- 
son, I  could  never  enter  thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of 
the  confession  which  the  author  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  the  unfortunate  Queen  ;  for,  in  my  own  mind,  I 
was  firmly  persuaded  of  the  falsity  of  the  charges 
brought  against  Mary  Stuart. 

Even  on  the  scaffold  Mary  protested  her  inno- 
cence ;  was  it  likely  she  would  lie  when  she  was  so 
soon  to  appear  before  the  Supreme  Judge  ?  And  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  fact  of  her  not  being  allowed 
to  justify  herself  publicly  before  Parliament,  as  was 
her  undoubted  right,  is  an  evident  proof  that  those 
authors  are  correct  who  have  refused  to  see  in  the 
aspersions  cast  upon  her  anything  beyond  calumny 
and  lies. 


1^0  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

During;  that  part  of  the  confession  where  Melville, 
after  having  heard  from  Mary  that  she  was  free  from 
all  other  sin,  taxes  her  in  austere  tones  with  having 
been  accessory  to  the  conspiracy  of  Paris  and  Babing- 
ton  to  murder  Elizabeth,  I  maintained  a  serene  front, 
and  the  calm  and  tranquil  air  proceeding  from  an 
easy  conscience.     After  a  short  pause,  I  said — 

"  I  am  prepared  to  meet  eternity ; 
Within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  hour 
I  shall  appear  before  my  Judge's  throne ; 
But,  I  repeat  it,  my  confession  's  ended." 

Melville,  still  not  wholly  satisfied,  besought  me  not 
to  delude  myself  with  vain  words,  if,  indeed,  I  had  in 
any  way  been  implicated  in  such  a  grave  fault;  but 
again  I  protested  my  innocence,  although  I  did  not 
try  to  hide  the  fact  that  I  had  held  communication 
with  various  Princes  in  the  hope  of  "  inducing  them 
to  aid  in  liberating  me  from  the  prison  "  to  which  I 
had  been  condemned  by  my  persecutors. 

"  Thou  mount'st  then,  satisfied 
Of  thy  own  innocence,  the  fatal  scaffold  ?  " 

asked  Melville. 

"  God  suffers  me  in  mercy  to  atone 
By  undeserved  death,  my  youth's  transgressions," 

I  answered,  alluding  to  the  death  of  Darnley. 

In  spite  of  the  tears  that  filled  my  eyes,  the  light 
of  truth  shone  so  plainly  in  them,  and  their  expression 
was  so  full  of  faith  in  Celestial  Justice  as  to  give 
additional  sublimity  to  the  emotion  of  Melville,  who 
absolved  me  with  the  most  Christian  words ;  and 
when  his  invocation  to  God  was  ended,  placed  his 


MARY  STUART.  171 

hand  on  my  head  and  blessed  me.  I,  still  kneeling 
with  my  crucifix  clasped  in  my  hand,  my  face  upraised, 
and  a  smile  of  perfect  faith  upon  my  lips,  expressed 
by  my  attitude  that  I,  even  then,  saw  the  heavens 
open  before  me,  and  realized  the  blessings  so  shortly 
to  be  mine. 

After  a  few  minutes  passed  in  this  kind  of  religious 
ecstasy,  Anna  appeared,  greeted  Melville  most  re- 
spectfully, and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 
He  then  raised  me  to  my  feet  with  a  deep  sigh ;  but 
my  eyes  still  remained  fixed  on  that  luminous  spot, 
through  which  my  excited  imagination  led  me  to 
believe  I  had  gained  a  glimpse  of  Heaven. 

Melville  addressed  me  sadly — 

"A  painful  conflict  is  in  store  for  thee ; 
Feel'st  thou  within  thee  strength  enough  to  smother 
Each  impulse  of  malignity  and  hate  ? " 

To  which  I  replied  in  a  flexible,  harmonious  voice — 

"  I  fear  not  a  relapse,  I  have  to  God 
Devoted  both  my  hatred  and  my  love." 

On  hearing  the  arrival  of  Burleigh  and  Leicester, 
the  man  once  destined  to  be  my  husband,  I  did  not 
alter  the  expression  of  my  face  in  the  least  degree, 
and  only  returned  to  the  thought  of  my  misery  when 
Cecil  said — 

"I  come,  my  Lady  Stuart,  to  receive 
Your  last  commands  and  wishes." 

And  here,  absorbed  entirely  in  the  thought  of  God, 
I  thanked  him  with  imperturbable  calm ;  presenting 
some  petitions  for  my  friends  and  attendants,  and  for 
the  repose  of  my  body.     Finally,  I  gave  a  message 


172  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

of  farewell  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  But  when  Burleigh 
proceeded  to  ask  the  following  question — 

"Vou  still  refuse  assistance  from  the  Dean  ?" 

I  replied  in  a  firm  and  decided  tone — 

"  My  Lord,  I  've  made  my  peace  with  my  God ; " 

and  I  emphasized  the  words  "  my  God,"  as  if  to  show 
that  my  faith  had  been  the  constant  guide  of  my 
life. 

.1  then  begged  pardon  of  Paulet  for  having  been 
the  involuntary  cause  of  his  nephew  Mortimer's 
death,  but  was  interrupted  by  a  cry  of  horror  from 
my  attendants.  I  turned  hastily.  The  great  door 
at  the  back  of  the  stage  had  been  opened,  and  at  the 
sight  of  the  executioner,  the  scaffold,  and  the  guards 
with  lighted  torches,  my  gestures  betrayed  a  natural 
weakness.  I  tottered  back,  my  eyes  closed  involun- 
tarily;  Melville  supported  me,  and  seized  the  crucifix 
which  was  falling  from  my  hand.  But  presently  my 
senses  returned;  I  murmured  in  a  faint  voice — 

"  Yes,  my  hour  is  come ! 
The  sheriff  comes  to  lead  me  to  my  fate! 
And  part  we  must.     Farewell. 
You,  my  worthy  Sir,  and  my  dear  faithful  Anna 
Shall  attend  me  in  my  last  moment." 

And,  leaning  on  Melville  and  my  servant,  I  advanced 
with  uncertain  steps  towards  the  scaffold.  Burleigh, 
eager  to  deny  Mary  this  last  consolation,  interposed 
to  prevent  her  friends  accompanying  her  farther,  on 
the  ground  that  he  had  no  orders  authorizing  him  to 
permit  this  indulgence.  To  which  Mary  replied  she 
was  certain  her  royal  sister  would  never  permit  her 


MARY  STUART.  1 73 

person  to  be  profaned  by  the  rough  hands  of  the  exe- 
cutioner; and  she  undertook  that  Anna's  sobbing 
grief  should  not  impede  the  executioner.  Paulet 
joined  his  entreaties  to  those  of  the  Queen,  and  Bur- 
leigh at  last  granted  the  favor. 

From  this  time  my  face  became  transformed,  and, 
looking  upwards,  I  exclaimed,  with  the  deepest  relig- 
ious fervor — 

"  I  now 
Have  nothing  in  this  world  to  wish  for  more. 
My  God !     My  Comforter !     My  blest  Redeemer  1 
As  once  Thy  arms  were  stretched  upon  the  cross, 
Let  them  be  now  extended  to  receive  me." 

I  spoke  these  lines  slowly,  clasping  my  hands 
together  on  my  breast.  Melville  held  up  my  crucifix 
before  me  while  he  guided  my  trembling  steps.  Sud- 
denly I  perceived  Leicester  standing  rather  in  the 
background ;  and  at  sight  of  him  I  was  seized  with 
violent  emotion.  All  my  sad,  terrible  past  rushed 
upon  me  once  more.  I  tottered,  and,  unable  to  help 
myself,  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  Earl,  who  stepped 
hurriedly  forward  to  catch  me.  When  I  had  regained 
my  senses,  I  addressed  him  in  feeble  and  trembling 
tones — 

"You  keep  your  word,  my  Lord  of  Leicester;  for 
You  promised  me  your  arm  to  lead  me  forth 
From  prison,  and  you  lend  it  to  me  now." 

Seeing  the  great  confusion  of  Leicester  at  these 
words,  which  were  uttered  in  a  tone  at  once  of 
resignation  and  mild  rebuke,  I  continued — 

"  Farewell,  my  Lord,  and,  if  you  can,  be  happy ! 
To  woo  two  Queens  has  been  your  darling  aim. 
You  have  disdain'd  a  tender,  loving  heart, 
Betray'd  it,  in  the  hope  to  win  a  proud  one." 


1/4 


ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 


I  had  arranged  that  the  Earl  should  show  himself 
deeply  moved  at  these  accents.  He  was  to  turn  to 
me  with  entreating  gesture  as  if  to  exculpate  himself, 
in  order  to  give  greater  force  to  the  following  words 
which,  with  an  almost  prophetic  expression,  I  pro- 
nounced— 

"  Kneel  at  the  feet  of  Queen  Elizabeth ! 
May  3'our  reward  not  prove  your  punishment." 

At  this  recall  to  earthly  things,  Melville,  full  of 
Christian  fervor  and  in  attitude  of  rebuke,  pushes 
me  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  holding  the  cross  before 
my  eyes  ;  the  bell  tolls,  the  drums  beat ;  we  form  a 
tableau ;  I  pressing  the  crucifix  I  wore  to  my  lips. 
He  says — 

"Desire  only  to  appear  in  the  presence  of  Him  who  will 
shortly  become  your  Judge,  purified  by  your  repeated  victory 
over  all  earthly  passions. " 

Profoundly  moved,  I  raised  myself,  and  again  lean- 
ing on  my  confessor,  still  holding  before  my  eyes  the 
symbol  of  redemption,  I  turned  slowly  towards  the 
back  of  the  stage.  At  last  I  reached  the  steps  lead- 
ing to  the  scaffold  ;  here,  Melville  still  at  my  side, 
still  uplifting  the  cross,  I  turn  once  more,  and  by  a 
gesture  intimate  to  my  weeping  attendants  I  would 
pray  Heaven  for  them.  I  stretched  out  my  hands 
towards  them  in  an  attitude  of  benediction.  Then, 
embracing  the  cross,  I  waved  a  last  farewell  to  them 
all,  and  descended  the  interior  staircase,  followed  by 
the  executioner. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

MYRRHA. 

Any  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  dramatic  litera- 
ture of  our  great  authors,  will  easily  understand  that 
among  all  the  tragedies  produced  by  the  immortal 
Alfieri,  that  of  Myrrha  is  founded  upon  the  most 
difficult  and  extraordinary  subject  of  any  which  he 
has  treated.  And,  in  fact,  to  place  upon  the  stage 
the  spectacle  of  a  daughter  powerfully  enamored  of 
her  own  father,  and  assailed  from  time  to  time  by 
impulses  of  fierce  jealousy  against  her  own  mother, 
is  undoubtedly  a  monstrous  thing.  But  it  will  assur- 
edly not  be  reckoned  so  unbecoming  or  incompatible 
with  public  morality,  when  it  is  remembered  that  this 
passion  was  inspired  by  an  irresistible  fate.  Alfieri 
tells  us  that  Cecris,  Myrrha's  mother,  having  boasted 
of  the  beauty  of  her  daughter  as  superior  to  that  of 
Venus  herself,  the  offended  goddess  took  her  revenge 
by  filling  the  heart  of  Myrrha  with  an  incestuous 
passion.  And  thanks  to  his  master  hand,  which  has 
never  had  its  equal,  Alfieri  has  succeeded  in  making 
the  representation  of  it  not  merely  bearable,  but 
even  affecting. 

In  truth,  the  sight  of  the  incessant  and  most  pain- 
ful conflict  raging  in  a  pure  soul  filled  by  such  a  terri- 
ble passion,  a  passion  which  causes  remorse,  shame, 
and  scarcely-understood  desires,  and  the  enormity  of 

(i7S) 


176  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

which  its  victim  herself  can  measure  by  the  horror  it 
causes  her,  must  move  the  spectators  to  a  feeling  of 
compassion,  and  Alfieri  has  expressed  this  opinion  at 
the  close  of  his  tragedy. 

But  if  it  was  a  difficult  task  for  the  author  to  treat 
such  a  subject  so  as  to  render  it  acceptable  upon  the 
stage,  what  must  have  been  the  burden  of  responsi- 
bility upon  the  actress  who  undertook  to  interpret  it, 
and  render  it  admissible,  or  even  tolerable  ?  There- 
fore, I  may  frankly  say  that  this  was  the  only  character 
I  studied  during  my  artistic  career,  in  the  interpreta- 
tion of  which  I  was  not  at  once  successful,  and  it 
was  the  only  one  whose  immense  difficulty  seemed 
to  paralyze  my  intellectual  powers. 

For  it  appeared  to  me  impossible  adequately  to 
depict  the  startling  contrasts  which  succeeded  one 
another  without  pause  in  the  soul  of  this  unhappy 
woman,  who  was  vainly  struggling  against  her  destiny, 
and  her  living  martyrdom. 

How  could  it  be  shown  that  all  that  was  guilty  in 
her  was  not  hers,  but  that  hers  rather  was  the  virtue, 
the  strength,  with  which  she  fought  against  the  evil 
passion  that  filled  her  heart,  fought  against  it  even  to 
taking  her  own  life  ?  How,  step  by  step,  could  the 
overwhelming  fury  of  that  fatal  sentiment  be  devel- 
oped, and  its  incomprehended  impulses  and  terrible 
results  be  set  forth  in  their  due  proportions  ? 

From  the  early  age  of  fourteen,  when,  thanks  to 
my  natural  and  precocious  development,  I  was  able 
to  undertake  the  principal  part  in  Francesca  da  Rim- 
ini, up  to  the  last  day  of  my  artistic  studies,  I  was 
gifted  with  a  great  facility  of  imitation,  which  helped 


MYRRHA.  177 

me  to  identify  myself  with  my  subject,  and  made  me 
successful  in  every  part.  But  in  this  of  Myrrha  I 
was  dismayed  by  the  many  obstacles  I  encountered, 
and  if  any  conceit  had  been  likely  to  spring  up  with- 
in me,  it  would  have  been  effectually  annihilated,  for 
during  a  considerable  time  it  seemed  to  me  the  diffi- 
culties I  encountered  would  surpass  my  ability  to 
overcome  them. 

It  was  in  1848  that  the  unexpected  change  of 
Government  made  it  possible  to  put  upon  the  stage 
works  hitherto  prohibited  by  the  Papal  Censor,  and 
my  capocomico  immediately  conceived  the  idea  of 
bringing  out  Myrrha,  which  was  one  of  these  pro- 
hibited plays. 

It  was  just  before  the  birth  of  the  eldest  of  my 
four  children,  and  it  seemed  to  me  most  inappropriate 
for  me,  in  my  condition,  to  undertake  the  part  of  a 
young  girl  of  twenty,  the  victim  of  such  an  unnatural 
passion.  I,  therefore,  opposed  the  project  as  much 
as  I  could,  but  without  success,  for  my  Impresarii, 
Domeniconi,  and  Gaetano  Coltellini,  naturally  count- 
ed on  this  play  for  filling  the  theatre.  In  my  quality 
of  dependant,  I  could  not  refuse  my  services,  and, 
like  my  other  companions  in  art,  I  was  forced  to 
consent. 

In  four  days  I  learnt  the  part  of  Myrrha,  which 
contains  about  370  lines  ! 

How  was  it  possible  for  me  thoroughly  to  study 
and  enter  into  the  meaning  of  even  a  quarter  of  such  a 
task,  or  to  identify  myself  with  such  a  recondite  char- 
acter ?  There  was  barely  time  to  commit  the  words  of 
my  part  to  memory,  as  every  one  will  know  who  is  ac- 
12 


178  ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 

quainted  with  Alfieri's  verses,  and  with  his  involved 
form  of  expression.  The  result  was  what  might  have 
been  expected,  half  a  failure  ;  and  I  was  so  annoyed 
that  I  declared  nothing  should  induce  me  ever  to  ap- 
pear again  in  this  tragedy.  It  was  not  until  1852 
that  wiser  counsels  induced  me  to  change  my  mind. 
Then  our  celebrated  prima  do/ma,  and  my  very  dear 
friend,  Carolina  Internari,  who  displayed  towards 
me  the  affection  of  a  mother,  and  who  was  devoted 
to  tragic  art,  speaking  to  me  one  day  about  Myrrha, 
began  to  reprove  me  sharply  for  my  cowardice  in  not 
having  again  attempted  the  character.  When  T  per- 
sisted in  my  refusal,  she  offered  me  an  inducement  of 
which  I  could  never  have  dreamed.  Such  was  her 
love  for  her  art,  and  for  the  beautiful,  that  although 
she  had  always  taken  the  principal  part  in  the  play 
and  had  been  received  in  it  with  the  greatest  enthu- 
siasm, yet  if  I  would  only  consent  once  more  to  as- 
sume the  part  of  Myrrha,  she  herself  would  play  that 
of  the  Nurse  Euryclea,  one  of  considerable  import- 
ance certainly,  but  still  one  usually  assigned  to  the 
second  lady  of  the  company.  I  was  vanquished  by 
her  generous  proposal,  my  objections  ceased,  and  I 
resumed  my  study  of  Myrrha.  But  what  a  study  ! 
I  meditated  on  every  line,  I  analyzed  each  word,  I 
studied  every  look,  until,  at  last,  I  began  to  fancy  I 
saw  somewhat  how  this  exceptional  character  should 
be  interpreted.  This  study,  in  its  complete  and  its 
many  details,  was  successful,  and  was  received  with 
all  the  favor  which  was  then  bestowed  on  grand  tragic 
art,  and  the  manifestation  of  which  by  the  Italian 
public  differed  widely  from  the  convulsive  aspiration 


MYRRH  A.  179 

of  the  present  day,  and  it  found  an  appreciative 
audience  which  showed  inexpressible  delight,  often 
amounting  almost  to  delirium,  in  witnessing  these 
tragic  representations. 

Towards  the  close  of  1852,  after  three  months  of 
hard  work,  I  presented  myself  upon  the  stage  of  the 
Theatre  Niccolini,  at  Florence — then  the  Cocomero 
— to  undergo  my  ordeal.  The  fact  of  having  that 
living  incarnation  of  tragedy,  Carolina  Internari,  to 
support  me  in  my  effort,  gave  me  such  impulsive 
energy,  such  fire  and  enthusiasm — my  soul  was  so 
keenly  alive  to  the  influence  of  that  beautiful  charmer 
— that  the  very  magnetism  of  her  presence  made  the 
blood  to  leap  in  my  veins,  my  imagination  carried 
me,  as  if  were,  out  of  myself,  and  enabled  me  to 
identify  myself  entirely  with  the  miserable  vicissi- 
tudes of  Myrrha. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  I  made  this  tragedy 
entirely  my  own — mine  exclusively — and  it  was  this 
which,  when  I  played  it  at  the  Theatre  Ventadour,  in 
Paris,  in  1855,  procured  me  the  favor  of  the  public, 
and  of  the  French  press,  and  afterwards  that  of  the 
other  nations. 

If  the  incestuous  love  of  Myrrha  was  repugnant, 
its  repugnance  was  somewhat  covered  by  the  stress 
which  was  laid  upon  her  own  innate  chastity,  and  I 
had  so  colored  my  interpretation  of  her  character 
with  this  nobler  sentiment,  as  to  bring  out  all  its  re- 
condite and  hidden  beauties.  My  chief  care  was  to 
prove  to  the  public,  that  although  the  subject  appear- 
ed immoral,  it  was  not  really  so  in  action.  If,  in  the 
old  mythological  fable,  Myrrha  is  presented  as  whol- 


I  So  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

ly  odious  and  despicable,  in  Alfieri's  tragedy  the 
woman's  passion  is  always  dominated  by  the  natural 
chastity  of  the  young  maiden,  and  indeed  I  heard 
several  mothers  remark,  to  my  great  satisfaction, 
"  that  they  had  not  seen  anything  that  could  offend 
their  daughters'  modesty." 

I  will  here  recount  a  curious  little  anecdote  in  sup- 
port of  my  assertion.  A  young  lady  who  had  just 
returned  home  from  the  theatre,  greatly  impressed  by 
all  she  had  seen,  was  talking  over  various  points  in 
the  tragedy  with  her  parents  and  friends,  and  she 
said  :  "  But  why  was  this  Myrrha  so  strange,  so  dis- 
satisfied ?  sometimes  she  will  be  married,  sometimes 
she  wont :  her  parents  are  always  of  her  mind.  She 
herself  fixes  the  day  of  her  marriage,  then  she  talks 
of  putting  it  off,  she  tries  to  forget  what  just  before 
she  so  ardently  desired,  and  behold  !  when  the  wed- 
ding is  to  take  place,  she,  in  an  agony  of  anguish  and 
fur}^,  refuses  her  husband,  reproaches  her  mother,  and 
ends  the  tragedy  by  killing  herself,  after  saying  to  her 
father,  '  Ah !  thou  would'st  see  that  father  recoil 
with  horror  if  he  knew  it,  Cinyras.'  Whatever  was 
the  matter  with  her  ?  "  Then  the  father  of  this  young 
girl,  whose  penetration  equalled  his  own,  and  who 
found  himself  rather  at  a  loss  for  an  answer,  replied, 
with  a  wisdom  worthy  of  him,  "  that  the  poor  thing 
had  probably  been  bitten  by  the  tarantula."  * 

And  indeed,  a  person  whose  intelligence  is  not 
very  acute,  may  be  excused  for  being  somewhat  be- 

*  The  tarantula  is  a  venomous  spider  found  in  some  parts  of 
Italy,  whose  bite  is  said  to  be  fatal. —  Translator. 


MYRRH  A.  l8l 

wildered  by  the  sudden  and  sharp  contrasts  of  feel- 
ing in  the  tragedy. 

In  the  first  scene  that  Myrrh  a  has  with  Pereus, 
her  intended  husband,  I  used  every  effort  in  my 
power  to  conceal  the  struggle  that  was  raging  within 
me,  and  to  hide  the  real  cause  of  my  anguish,  and  of 
the  aversion  I  felt  towards  every  man  but  my  father. 
But  here  and  there,  as  it  were,  my  weakness  prevails 
over  my  resolution  for  an  instant,  and,  as  was  evi- 
dently the  author's  intention,  I  let  drop  a  word  or 
two  which  gave  some  hint  of  the  conflict  through 
which  I  was  passing. 

Thus,  for  example,  when  Pereus  says — 

"  Now  thou  dost  not  disdain  to  be  mine  ? 
No  more  to  repent  ?  no  more  to  delay .-' " 

Myrrha,  who  feels  her  courage  is  deserting  her, 
answers : 

"  No.  This  is  the  day,  and  to-day  I  will  be  thy  bride,  but  to- 
morrow let  our  sails  be  given  to  the  winds,  and  let  us  leave  for 
ever  these  shores  at  our  back." 

PEREas. — "  What  do  I  hear.'  What  sudden  contradiction  is 
in  thy  words?  It  is  pain  to  thee  to  leave  thy  native  land,  thy 
revered  parents,  and  yet  would'st  thou  depart  thus  for  ever?  " 

Myrrha. — "I  would  abandon  them  for  ever — and  die  of 
grief." 

These  passages  are  also  a  proof  of  the  inflexible 
resolution  of  Myrrha,  who,  though  certain  she  will 
die  if  separated  from  her  father,  yet  prefers  that 
separation  to  a  prolonged  residence  near  him. 

I  find  it  indispensable  to  touch  as  briefly  as  may 
be  possible  on  certain  ideas,  certain  passages  difficult 
of  expression,  in  order  to  enable  the  reader  to  form  a 


1 82  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

better  judgment  of  my  interpretation  of  them.  Thus, 
in  the  third  Act,  when  Myrrha  is  invited  by  her  parents 
to  confide  in  them,  at  the  beginning,  I  advanced  to- 
wards my  mother  with  a  firm  step,  as  though  my 
martyrdom  were  suspended  for  a  moment,  and  com- 
ing opposite  to  her  in  an  affectionate  manner,  I  so 
contrived  that  the  presence  of  my  father  was  hid 
from  my  eyes.  Cecris,  in  advancing  to  meet  me, 
said — 

"Ah!  beloved  child  !  come  to  us — come!  " 

But  as  she  spoke  the  words  "  Come  to  us,"  I  be- 
came aware  that  my  father  was  also  before  me,  and, 
stopping  as  one  struck  by  a  sudden  ague,  gave  my 
mother  occasion  for  the  second  "  Come,"  as  though 
she  would  ask  "  Why  do  you  hesitate  ?  "  her  question 
being  followed  by  my  words,  spoken  in  an  aside — 
"Heavens  !  What  do  I  see  ?  my  father  also !  " 

In  answer  to  the  affectionate  exhortations  of  Cinyras, 
and  the  caresses  of  my  mother,  I  allowed  the  public 
to  guess  the  mental  torture  I  was  undergoing,  by 
saying  in  another  aside — 

Are  there  torments  in  the  world  to  equal  mine  ? " 

And  when,  pressed  by  my  father,  and  persistently 
entreated  by  my  mother,  I  saw  no  way  of  escape 
without  betraying  my  guilty  passion,  I  could  control 
my  feelings  no  longer,  it  seemed  to  me  that  my  heart 
must  break. 

After  a  superhuman  effort  not  to  betray  myself  I 
murmured  resolutely  in  an  aside — 

"  Oh  1  Myrrha  1  this  is  thy  last  effort !  O  soul,  take  courage !  " 


MYRRH  A.  183 

And  as  the  father,  seeing  the  miserable  condition  of 
his  child,  and  the  suffering  which  oppressed  her,  said, 
in  a  tone  of  decision  and  authority — 

"  No !  It  would  not  be  right.  Thou  dost  not  love  Pereus, 
and  it  is  unwillingly  thou  would'st  give  thyself  to  him," 

I  exclaimed,  with  the  cry  of  a  soul  which  sees  its  last 
chance  of  escape  from  the  fearful  passion  that  is  con- 
suming it  cut  off — 

"  Ah !  do  not  tear  him  from  me — rather  give  me  instant 
death!" 

After  a  moment's  pause,  as  though  to  regain  my 
self-control,  and  excuse  my  vacillating  state  of  mind, 
I  continued — 

"  It  is  true,  perhaps,  that  I  do  not  love  him  as  he  loves  me, 
and  that  I  am  not  well  assured  of  it  myself.  Believe  me,  he 
has  my  esteem,  and  that  no  man  in  the  world  could  have  my 
hand  if  he  did  not  have  it.  I  hope  he  will  be  dear  to  my  heart 
as  he  ought  to  be.  Chaste  and  faithful  always  I  would  live  for 
him,  and  joy  rekindle  in  my  bosom.  Some  day,  perhaps,  life 
will  return  to  me  sweet  and  happy.  If,  at  present,  I  do  not 
love  him  as  he  merits,  the  fault  is  not  in  me — I,  who  abhor  my- 
self, have  chosen  him — I  choose  him  again.  I  only  wish  and 
ask  for  him  as  a  husband.  This  choice  you  have  consented  to 
with  joy,  let  all  be  completed  then,  as  I  wish,  and  as  you  have 
wished.  Since  I  triumph  over  my  grief,  so  let  it  be  with  you ; 
when  I  am  happier  I  will  go  to  the  nuptials  quickly,  and  you 
will  be  happier  some  day." 

Identifying  myself  with  the  poet's  ideal,  I  labored 
to  reproduce  the  wonderful  strength  of  will  with 
which  this  unhappy  girl  repulsed  her  father's  caress- 
es, and  adduced  fallacious  reasons  as  the  unhappy 
cause  of  her  mysterious  sorrow,  at  one  moment 
directing  bitter  imprecations  against  the  cruel  enemy 


1 84  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

who  had  wrought  her  such  woe,  while  at  another, 
feigning  a  calm  she  did  not  feel,  a  hope  she  was  far 
from  experiencing,  all  the  time  showing  to  the  public, 
by  occasional  hints,  her  firm  decision  to  die,  if  it 
were  necessary,  rather  than  live  near  the  object  of 
her  shameful  love.  And  who  would  not  be  moved 
to  pity  for  thet  unfortunate  maiden  who  had  thus 
become  the  sport  of  such  an  adverse  destiny,  and 
whose  soul  was  lacerated  by  such  a  guilty  passion  ! 

I  was  very  careful  not  to  meet  my  father's  eyes, 
while  at  the  same  time  I  did  not  neglect  any  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  the  audience,  by  my  expression, 
what  jealous  anger  I  felt  at  seeing  my  mother  the 
object  of  his  tenderness. 

One  of  these  occasions,  of  which  I  availed  myself, 
was  when  Cinyras,  after  hearing  the  reasons  his 
daughter  adduces  for  the  necessity  of  her  separation 
from  her  parents,  turns  sadly  to  his  wife,  and  says, 
as  he  embraces  her — 

"And  thou,  dear  wife,  standest  there  in  silent  grief.  Con- 
sentest  thou  to  her  wish  ? " 

At  this  sight  I  made  a  hasty  movement  as  though 
I  would  rush  forward  and  hinder  the  embrace,  then, 
seized  with  a  sudden  shivering,  and  bashfulness,  I 
gathered  my  mantle  about  my  person,  and  fled  to 
the  back  of  the  stage.  Afterwards  I  took  leave  of 
my  parents  in  these  words — 

"  I  will  withdraw  to  my  room  for  a  moment.  I  wish  to  go 
to  the  altar  with  dry  eyes  and  with  a  smooth  forehead  to  greet 
my  spouse." 

I  exchanged  an  affectionate  embrace  with  my  mother. 


MYRRH  A.  185 

but  when  my  father  drew  near  and  attempted  to  clasp 
me  to  his  heart,  in  order  to  avoid  his  caress,  I  bent 
before  him  in  an  attitude  of  simulated  respect,  allow- 
ing the  terror  with  which  I  shrank  from  him  to  be 
plainly  seen.  Then,  a  prey  to  the  most  evident  agi- 
tation, I  rushed  from  the  stage. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  fourth  Act  the  author  repre- 
sents Myrrha  so  calm,  serene  and  smiling  as  to  make 
Nurse  Euryclea  say — 

"  It  is  a  cruel  joy  thou  showest  now  in  leaving  us." 
And  this  joy  appears  as  though  it  might  be  the  natu- 
ral consequence  of  the  satisfaction  experienced  by 
Myrrha,  in  the  belief  that  she  has  triumphed  over  all 
the  obstacles  which  might  prevent  her  departure,  and 
has  in  this  way  freed  herself  from  the  fatal  influence 
exercised  over  her.  In  a  tranquil  and  sensible  tone 
she  says  to  Pereus — 

"  Yes,  dear  spouse,  for  that  is  the  name  I  now  wish  to  call 
thee,  if  ever  I  had  an  intense  wish,  it  is  to  depart  with  thee  at 
the  dawn  to-morrow.  Oh !  I  desire  it.  I  wish  to  be  alone 
with  thee.  I  wish  no  longer  to  see  one  of  these  objects,  the 
witness  of  my  tears,  and  their  cause,  perhaps.  To  cross  new 
seas,  to  visit  another  kingdom,  to  breathe  an  air  strange  and 
pure,  and  to  have  thee  for  a  protector  at  my  side,  a  husband 
like  thee,  full  of  joy  and  love,  such  are  my  wishes,  and  all  this 
will  bring  me  back  to  what  I  once  enjoyed.  I  trust  I  shall  be 
less  troublesome  to  thee.  Thou  must  have  some  compassion 
for  my  state.  My  grief,  if  not  spoken  of  by  thee,  will  not  long 
have  root.  Do  thou  not  speak  to  me  of  the  paternal  kingdom, 
and  of  my  deserted  and  disconsolate  parents,  nor  of  anything 
remind  me  that  once  was  mine.  Speak  not  their  name.  This 
alone  will  be  the  remedy  to  stay  forever  the  fountain  of  my 
tears." 

From  this  it  may  be  gathered  that  when  Myrrha  is 


1 86  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

not  in  the  actual  presence  of  her  father,  she  is  able 
to  conquer  her  internal  strife,  and  to  obtain  the  mas- 
tery over  her  passion.  But,  on  the  appearance  of 
Cinyras,  in  order  to  bring  out  more  strikingly  the 
contrast  between  the  following  supreme  situation  and 
the  instantaneous  effect  which  the  sight  of  my  father 
produced  on  my  heart,  I  was  successful  in  showing 
by  incontestable  evidence  the  icy  coldness  which  ran 
through  my  veins,  my  hair  which  stood  on  end — in 
one  word,  the  deep  and  invincible  perturbation  that 
had  seized  me.  The  public,  comprehending,  identi- 
fied itself  at  once  (as  the  wave  of  involuntary  emotion 
let  me  plainly  see)  with  the  sentiments  of  this  situa- 
tion, which  is  one  of  the  most  moving  in  the  tragedy. 
The  first  returning  symptoms  of  Myrrha's  passion 
are  manifested  when  the  priest  intones  the  opening 
verses  of  the  nuptial  hymn.  Then  her  face  assumes 
the  pallor  of  death,  her  limbs  tremble.  The  only 
one  to  perceive  it  is  the  nurse,  who  approaches  her 
in  terror,  and  asks — 

"  Daughter,  what  is  this  ?    Thou  tremblest  1     Heaven !  " 

To  which  Myrrha  replies,  still  shaking  and  shiver- 
ing— 

"  Silence,  O  silence  1 " 

EURYCLEA — 

"But  yet " 

Myrrha  (resolutely  and  with  authority) — 

"  No !  it  is  not  true.     I  tremble  not " — 

whilst  burning  tears  run  from  her  eyes.     And  this  is 
one  of  the  most  magnificent  passages  in  this  Act. 
I  remember  what  immense  labor  and  fatigue  it 


MYRRH  A.  187 

cost  me  to  arrive  at  the  most  exact  interpretation  of 
the  mental  torment  which  her  mother's  persistent 
demands  as  to  the  cause  of  her  sorrow  inflicted  upon 
Myrrha,  and  that  this  was  aggravated  by  the  struggle 
caused  by  her  irrevocable  determination  to  consum- 
mate her  marriage,  even  at  the  cost  of  her  life. 
These  two  true  and  powerful  situations  are  admirably 
expressed  in  the  following  words  : 

Cecris. — "  But  why  is  this  ?  Why  changes  thy  face?  Alas  I 
thou  dost  vacillate,  and  trembling,  canst  scarcely  stand." 

Myrrha. — "  Ah !  for  pity's  sake,  my  mother,  do  not  shake 
my  constancy  by  thy  words.  I  know  not  of  my  face,  but  my 
heart,  my  mind,  remains  firm  and  immovable." 

Meanwhile,  the  priest  continues  repeating  the  third 
strophe  of  the  nuptial  hymn — 

"Let  pure  Faith  and  Concord,  eternal  and  divine, 
Make  in  the  bosoms  of  these  two  their  shrine, 
And  always  in  vain  the  fatal  Alecto 
With  the  horrible  Furies 
Released,  moves  her  dismal  nuptial  torches 
Before  the  strong  pure  heart 
Of  the  honored  bride  who  transcends  all  praise. 
While  the  Furies  rage  in  vain 
And  fatal  discord  from  their  path  departs." 

While  the  hymn  goes  on,  Myrrha's  breast  heaves 
with  the  violence  of  her  effort  to  repress  any  outward 
manifestation  of  the  tempest  that  rages  within  her. 
But  at  the  words — 

"  While  all  the  Furies  rage  in  vain 
And  fatal  discord  from  their  path  departs," 

it  seems  to  me  that  she  must  have  reached  the 
crowning  point  of  her  desperation. 


1 88  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

The  anger  which  possesses  her  can  no  longer  be 
held  back ;  the  passion,  which  is  consuming  her  like 
a  poisonous  serpent,  bursts  all  bounds,  and  incites 
her  to  exclaim,  half  mad  with  rage — 

"  What  say  you  ?  Already  in  my  heart  all  the  Furies  have 
fearful  possession.  Behold  with  whips  of  vipers,  and  with  dis- 
mal torches  the  mad  Furies  stand.  See,  these  torches  are 
what  these  nuptials  merit." 

Here  I  became  entirely  transfigured,  as  though 
seized  with  delirium,  and,  after  a  short  pause,  con- 
tinued in  a  terrified  manner — 

",But  what  is  this  ?  The  hymns  ceased  ?  Who  holds  me  to 
his  breast .-'  Where  am  I .-'  What  said  I  ?  Am  I  already 
married?     O  wretchedness !  " 

As  I  spoke  these  words,  I  suddenly  turned  round, 
and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  my  father,  who, 
with  folded  arms,  gazed  at  me  threateningly. 

Struck  by  this  sight,  I  felt  the  blood  curdle  in  my 
veins,  and,  losing  all  my  courage,  with  the  cry — 

"  O  misery ! " 

I  let  myself  fall  to  the  ground  as  though  struck  by 
lightning. 

Little  by  little  my  mother  and  nurse  succeeded  in 
bringing  me  back  to  life  again,  though  I  was  slow  in 
entirely  recovering  my  scattered  senses.  It  was  the 
magnetic  effect  of  my  father's  voice  that  finally  re- 
called me  to  myself,  and,  as  I  listened  confusedly  to 
his  austere  and  menacing  words,  I  replied  in  a  weak 
and  scarcely  intelligible  voice — 

"  It  is  true.  Cinyras,  be  thou  inexorable  with  me.  I  ask 
nothing  else.     I  wish  no  more.     He  alone  can  terminate  all  the 


MYRRHA. 


189 


sufferings  of  his  unworthy,  unhappy  daughter.  Into  my  breast 
strike  that  vengeful  sword  hanging  at  thy  girdle.  Thou  gavest 
to  me  this  miserable  life.  Take  it  from  me.  Behold,  it  is  the 
last  boon  for  which  I  will  supplicate.  Ah,  think!  If  thou 
standest  still,  and  with  thine  own  right  hand  dost  not  kill  me, 
thou  wilt  compel  me  to  die  by  mine  own  and  no  other." 

How  plainly  Alfieri  shows  in  this  and  other  places 
that  Myrrha  is  powerless  to  conquer  her  love,  and 
that  death  alone  can  bring  her  rest  and  peace  ! 

At  the  last  words  I  fainted  once  more,  so  that  I 
did  not  perceive  I  was  being  supported  by  my  father, 
before  he  left  me. 

In  the  two  following  scenes  Myrrha  comes  slowly 
to  herself,  and,  remaining  alone  with  her  mother, 
there  is  a  long  interchange  of  sentiments  of  pity,  of 
anguish,  and  of  remorse,  and  finally  of  jealous  rage, 
at  seeing  her  hated  rival  continually  at  her  side,  and 
of  knowing  that  she  alone  possesses  the  affection  of 
CinjTas,  and  enjoys  his  tenderest  caresses.  Thus, 
when  Cecris  says — 

"  Rather  I  would  always  from  this  hour  watch  over  thy  life  " ; 

Myrrha,  beside  herself  with  passion,  interrupts  her 
cruelly — 

"Thou  watch  my  life  .'  Must  I  at  every  moment,  must  I  see 
thee  ?  Thou  always  to  be  before  my  eyes  1  Ah !  first,  I  wish 
that  these  my  eyes  were  sepulchred  in  eternal  darkness ;  with 
my  own  hand  I  myself  would  wish  to  tear  them  from  my  brow." 

And  when  Cecris  adds — 

"O  heaven!  What  do  I  hear?  Thou  makest  me  to  shud- 
der !     Thou  hatest  me,  then  ? " 

with  savage  desperation  her  daughter  answers — 


190  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

*'  Thou  first,  only,  and  everlasting  mournful  cause  of  my 
ever)'  misery " 

But,  quickly  the  sight  of  my  weeping  mother  re- 
called me  to  myself,  and  showed  me  what  terrible 
words  must  have  issued  from  my  lips,  as  by  some 
irresistible  force.  I  was  ashamed  of  having  been  led 
into  such  excesses.  My  natural  goodness  of  heart 
triumphed,  and  blushing  at  the  remembrance  that  I 
had  treated  my  mother  so  cruelly  in  my  paroxysm  of 
jealous  fury,  and  that  I  had  so  addressed  her,  I 
besought  her  to  kill  me.  Oppressed  as  I  was  by 
the  terrible  conflict  of  emotions,  I  felt  my  strength 
gradually  forsaking  me,  and  allowed  myself  to  be 
led  gently  towards  my  apartment  by  my  mother, 
exchanging  caresses  and  kisses  with  her. 

In  the  fifth  Act  the  desolate  Cinyras,  aware  of  the 
death  of  the  unfortunate  Pereus,  determines  to  put 
an  end  to  the  anxious  life  he  leads,  and,  at  every  risk, 
to  have  a  clear  explanation  with  Alyrrha,  and  speak  to 
her  with  the  decision  and  authority  of  a  father.  She 
advances  towards  him. 

The  words  which  Alfieri  has  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Cinyras,  before  Myrrha  shows  herself  to  the  public, 
clearly  indicate  what  is  her  state  of  mind — 

"Alas!  Now  she  approaches  with  slow  and  reluctant  steps! 
It  seems  as  if,  in  coming  to  me,  she  comes  to  die  before  my 
face." 

I  presented  myself,  arrayed  in  a  most  simple  Greek 
dress  of  the  finest  white  wool,  with  my  hair  plainly 
arranged,  an  ashy  paleness  on  my  face,  my  eyes  fixed, 
my  looks  bent  on  the  ground,  my  steps  tottering  and 
uncertain. 


MYRRHA.  191 

My  whole  appearance  at  once  made  the  spectators 
aware  of  the  terrible  conflict  that  raged  within  me, 
and  prepared  them  for  the  inevitable  catastrophe. 
At  the  sight  of  my  father  I  remained  as  if  petrified, 
and  with  head  bent  awaited  ray  condemnation. 

The  remarks  which  Cinyras  addresses  to  Myrrha 
with  a  view  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  sufferings, 
show  his  conviction  tliat  it  is  really  the  flame  of  love 
which  consumes  her,  but  that  it  is  a  low  passion,  un- 
wortliy  of  her,  else  she  would  not  have  so  carefully 
hidden  it  from  all  around  her,  or  allowed  it  so  to 
fasten  upon  her  heart. 

Without  speaking  a  word,  by  negations,  by  inter- 
rupted and  hardly  expressed  monosyllables,  by  ges- 
tures expressive  of  my  grief,  and  by  my  unutterable 
anguish,  I  produced  a  by-play  which  formed,  as  it 
were,  a  dialogue  with  my  father. 

Thus,  when  Cinyras  says — 

"  But  who  is  worthy  of  thy  heart  if  he  could  not  have  it — the 
incomparalDle,  the  constant  and  impassioned  lover,  Pereus?" 

I  so  arranged  that  he,  in  addressing  these  words  to- 
wards the  side  where  he  supposed  Pereus  might  be, 
should  turn  himself  quite  in  that  direction,  and  I,  by 
an  involuntary  impulse,  intoxicated  with  love  at  the 
sound  of  that  pitiful  voice,  with  my  arm  outstretched 
towards  my  father,  clearly  implied  that  he  alone  was 
worthy  of  my  affection.  But  when  Cinyras  suddenly 
faced  me  again,  I  lowered  my  gaze,  and  started  back, 
terrified  lest  I  should  be  surprised  in  that  attitude. 
Then,  seeing  that  I  had  been  on  the  point  of  betray- 
ing myself,  and  feeling  I  had  no  longer  the  strength  to 


192 


ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 


parry  his  arguments,  I  whispered  to  myself,  unheard 
by  him,  but  in  a  deep,  measured  tone,  full  of  bitter- 
ness— 

"  O  death — death,  that  I  so  much  invoke,  wilt  thou  always 
be  deaf  to  my  grief  ? " 

But  every  attempt  at  escape  was  in  vain,  my  repeated 
denials  were  unavailing,  every  falsehood  I  uttered  in 
my  endeavor  to  avoid  submitting  to  the  absolute  de- 
termination of  Cinyras  that  I  should  reveal  my  secret 
to  him,  proved  futile,  until  I  interrupted  him  at  last 
with  the  bitter  cry  of  a  stricken  soul,  and  exclaimed — 

"  O  heaven  !  I  love — yes  !  since  thou  forcest  me  to  tell  it — 
I  love  desperately,  and  in  vain." 

Then,  as  if  I  hoped  that  this  confession  would  prove 
sufficient,  I  entrenched  myself  behind  my  firm  resolu- 
tion to  say  no  more,  adding  promptly — 

"  But  who  may  be  the  object  thou  canst  never,  and  no  one 
else  can  know.  He  is  ignorant  of  it  himself,  and  I,  too,  deny 
it  to  myself." 

My  father  made  me  a  short  answer,  in  w^hich  he  pro- 
tested that  he  would  save  his  daughter  at  every  cost, 
and  seeing  that  I  should  not  be  able  much  longer  to 
stave  off  my  sad  confession,  I  burst  forth  with  energy, 
and  almost  beside  myself — 

"  Save  ?  What  is  thy  thought .-'  These  self-same  words 
hasten  my  death.  Leave  me,  ah!  leave  me,  for  pity's  sake, 
that  I  may  for  ever  quickly  drag  myself  from  thee." 

And  I  resolutely  turned  to  fly.  But  my  father's  lov- 
ing voice  exclaiming — 

"My  daughter,  only  beloved  one,  what  sayest  thou  1  Ah  I 
come  to  thy  father's  arms" — 


MYRRH  A.  193 

chained  me  to  the  spot.  Overpowered  by  the  vio- 
lence of  my  love,  it  seemed  as  though  some  invinci- 
ble influence  attracted  me  towards  him.  In  my 
passionate  rapture  I  threw  myself  into  his  arms,  but, 
the  moment  he  touched  me,  I  started  back  full  of 
horror,  and  repulsed  him  from  me. 

When,  at  last,  no  hope  of  escape  remained,  when 
there  was  no  possibility  that  Myrrha  could  longer 
conceal  the  impious  flame  which  was  consuming  her, 
in  accordance  with  the  intention  of  the  author,  who 
by  a  worthy  inspiration  of  genius  finds  means  to 
tell  all  in  a  single  paraphrase,  while  saying  nothing,  I 
said,  with  a  great  effort,  slowly  and  in  a  low  voice,  as 
though  I  feared  for  the  very  air  to  hear  me — 

"  Oh !  thou  wouldest  see  that  father  recoil  with  horror  if  he 
knew  it,  Cinyras." 

And  after  pronouncing  that  name  as  if  my  whole  soul 
were  in  the  word,  I  remained  immovable  for  an  in- 
stant, with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  awaiting  his 
answer. 

But  Myrrha's  hour  of  torture  is  not  yet  over,  for 
Cinyras,  who  has  not  understood  the  true  meaning  of 
the  words  he  heard,  threatens  to  remove  his  love 
from  her  altogether,  and  to  abandon  her  to  her  own 
devices,  if  she  will  not  reveal  the  terrible  mystery 
that  is  consuming  her.  At  this  threat,  Myrrha,  not 
being  able  to  endure  the  thought  of  abandonment  by 
her  father,  loses  every  vestige  of  self-control,  and, 
remembering  the  mother  who  will  live  forever  hap- 
pily at  his  side,  gives  full  vent  to  her  jealous  fury, 
exclaiming — 

13 


194 


ADELAIDE  KTSTORf. 


"  Oh  I  my  happy  mother  I  at  least  it  will  be  granted  to  her  to 
die  at  thy  side." 

The  accent,  the  gesture,  the  look  full  of  passionate 
love,  enlighten  Cinyras  at  once  as  to  the  true  mean- 
ing of  these  sacrilegious  words,  and  he  retreats  with 
horror  from  his  daughter.  Then  Myrrha,  over- 
whelmed by  her  infamy,  and  seeing  no  other  way  of 
escape  from  her  dishonor,  seizes  with  lightning  speed 
the  sword  which  hangs  at  her  father's  side,  and 
plunges  it  into  her  heart,  saying — 

"  My  hand  at  least  has  been  as  quick  as  my  tongue," 

and  falls  to  the  ground. 

Supported  in  the  arms  of  my  nurse,  when  I  heard 
Cinyras  in  the  act  of  revealing  the  guilty  secret  to 
his  consort,  I  endeavored  to  raise  myself,  and  with 
piteous  gestures  implored  him  not  to  proceed,  and  to 
spare  me  the  condemnation  which  must  attend  the 
knowledge  of  my  fault.  But  my  prayers  were  un- 
availing and  I  fell  back  once  more  on  the  bosom  of 
my  nurse.  Left  alone  with  her,  and  on  the  point  of 
death,  I  spoke  my  last  words  in  a  feeble  voice,  and 
accents  of  reproof — 

"  When  I  asked  thee  for  a  steel,  then  thou  shouldest  have 
given  it  me,  Eurj'clea.  I  then  should  have  died  innocent,  now 
I  die  wicked  "  ; 

and  I  fell  back,  dead,  upon  the  ground. 

I  hope  by  this  analytical  study  of  my  most  difficult 
character  to  make  the  reader  understand  what  im- 
mense efforts  it  required  to  enable  me  fully  to  enter 
into  Alfieri's  intentions,  which  evidently  were  to  show 
how  an   impure  passion  conceived  by  an  innocent 


MYRRH  A.  195 

soul,  may  be  rendered  capable  of  exciting  a  feeling 
of  true  pity  on  behalf  of  the  miserable  maiden  who 
is  the  victim  of  the  wrath  of  Venus. 

In  order  to  show  how  great  were  the  repentance 
and  remorse  of  Myrrha,  Ovid  makes  her  say — 

"  Oh,  gods  !  If  ye  are  accessible  to  the  voice  of  penitence,  I 
have  deserved  the  most  heavy  punishment,  and  am  ready  to 
endure  it.  But  that  I  may  not  offend  the  looks  of  the  living 
remaining  upon  earth,  nor  those  of  the  shadows  which  people 
the  regions  of  death,  exclude  me,  I  pray,  from  both  worlds,  and 
by  a  metamorphosis  divide  me  at  once  from  the  living  and  the 
dead." 

The  gods  listened  favorably  to  this  request,  and  Myrrha's 
last  petitions  were  granted.  She  was  still  speaking  when  the 
earth  began  to  cover  her  feet  and  roots  issued  forth  from  her 
toe-nails  to  serve  as  a  support  to  the  trunk  which  commenced 
to  form.  Her  bones  turned  into  solid  wood,  keeping  the  mar- 
row; her  blood  changed  into  sap,  her  arms  into  long  branches, 
her  fingers  into  smaller  twigs,  and  her  skin  into  rough  bark. 
The  visible  evidences  of  her  shame  were  hidden  among  the 
springing  boughs,  which  had  already  reached  her  breasts  and 
would  soon  encircle  her  neck.  Myrrha,  far  from  opposing  the 
encroachments  of  the  wood,  welcomed  it  gladly  and  pressed 
down  her  face  among  the  spreading  foliage.  Although  with 
her  body  she  had  lost  her  former  senses,  yet  she  wept  continu- 
ally. Warm  tears  still  flow  from  this  tree,  and  these  tears 
have  great  virtue. 

The  perfume  which  is  distilled  from  it  bears  the  name  of 
Myrrha,  and  shall  be  celebrated  throughout  all  future  cen- 
turies. 

Est  tales  exorsa  preces:  "  O,  si  qua  patetis 
Nuniina  confessis,  merui,  nee  triste  recuse 
Supplicium.     Sed,  ne  violem  vivosque  superstes 
Mortuaque  extinctos  ambobus  pellite  regnis 
Mutatceque  mihi  vitamque  necemque  negate, 
Numen  confessis  aliquod  patet.     Ultima  certe 


ig6  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Vota  suos  habuere  deos.     Nam  crura  loquentis 

Terra  supervenit,  ruptosque  obliqua  per  ungues 

Porrigitur  radix,  longi  firmamina  trunci, 

Ossaque  robur  argunt,  mediaque  manente  medulla, 

Sanguis  it  in  succos,  in  magnos  brachia  ramos, 

In  parvos  digitos,  duratur  cortice  pellis. 

liaque  gravem  crescens  uterum  perstrinxerat  arbor 

Pectoraque  obruerat,  collumque  operire  parabat 

Non  tulit  ilia  moram  venientique  obvia  ligno 

Subsedit,  mersitque  suos  in  cortice  vultus 

Quae,  quanquam  amisit  veteres  cum  corpora  sensus 

Flet  tamen  et  tepidu  manant  ex  arbore  guttae 

Est  honor  et  lacrymis;  stillataque  cortice  Myrra 

Nomen  herile  tenet,  nullique  tacebitur  aevo." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MEDEA. 

Without  making  any  attempt  to  trace  the  legend 
of  Medea  from  remote  antiquity,  I  shall  confine  my- 
self simply  to  time  present,  and  merely  say  that  the 
subject  was  dramatized  about  1810  by  the  distin- 
guished Italian,  Giovanni  Battista  Niccolini.  But 
although  there  were,  here  and  there  in  the  tragedy, 
some  flashes  of  genius,  although  the  style  was  mod- 
elled upon  that  of  the  ancient  Greek  plays,  and 
passages  were  found  which  had  been  taken  from 
Euripides  and  Seneca ;  yet  it  lacked  those  scenic 
effects  which  appeal  so  directly  to  the  audience,  and, 
as  the  dialogue  was  besides  somewhat  prolix,  it  was 
not  represented  so  frequently  as  other  plays  by  the 
same  renowned  author. 

Another  version  of  the  tragedy  was  published 
shortly  afterwards  by  the  Duca  della  Valle,  and  as 
this  was  more  concise  and  the  scenic  effects  equally 
well  preserved,  although  perhaps  at  the  expense  of 
the  stately  dignity  of  the  Greek,  the  play  became 
most  popular,  and  there  was  not  a  first  actress  of 
any  repute  who  did  not  essay  it,  nor  a  capoco^nico  who 
did  not  endeavor  to  put  it  on  the  stage. 

But  I  had  always  refused  to  accept  the  part,  for 
nature  had  developed  the  maternal  instinct  in  me  to 
a  very  large  degree,  and  I  instinctively  revolted  from 

(197) 


jgS  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

the  idea  of  a  woman  who,  by  her  own  hand,  and 
with  deliberate  design,  could  murder  her  children. 
Even  on  the  stage  I  would  not  portray  such  a 
monster.  And  although  my  capocomico  did  his  utmost 
to  overcome  my  scruples,  I  was  not  to  be  persuaded 
out  of  my  aversion. 

When  I  arrived  in  France,  as  I  have  already  said, 
in  1855,  the  disputes  between  the  famous  M.  Legouv6 
and  that  genius  of  French  tragedy,  Rachel,  were 
still  recent.  One  day,  after  I  had  given  a  few  rep- 
resentations at  the  Salle  Ventadour,  by  which  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  gain  the  full  sympathy  of  the 
Parisian  public,  my  maid  came  to  announce  that  two 
gentlemen  desired  to  see  me.  I  was  still  at  dinner, 
for  dramatic  artistes  are  obliged  to  keep  early  hours, 
but  I  desired  them  to  be  admitted. 

"  I  am  M.  Scribe,"  said  one. 

"  And  I  M.  Legouve,"  added  the  other. 

Who  does  not  know  these  two  names  in  Italy  ? 
Scribe's  name  is  almost  a  household  word  there,  and 
his  plays  of  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  Luisa  de  Ligue- 
rolles,  &c.,  &c.,  formed  an  important  and  attractive 
part  of  my  repertoire. 

When,  therefore,  I  found  myself  in  the  presence 
of  so  much  talent,  I  felt  much  confused,  although  I 
was  at  the  same  time  delighted  to  have  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  two  such  representatives  of  French 
dramatic  art.  A  gay  and  lively  conversation  speedily 
commenced,  in  the  course  of  which  I  mentioned 
some  of  their  works  in  which  I  had  appeared,  espe- 
cially those  of  Scribe ;  and  I  was  finally  prevailed 
upon,  by  the  courteous  entreaties  of  both  visitors,  to 


MEDEA.  199 

recite  certain  lines  from  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,  which 
they  were  naturally  polite  enough  to  say  gave  them 
the  fullest  satisfaction.  We  got  no  farther  during 
this  visit ;  but  a  few  days  after  M.  Legouve  came 
again,  when  the  following  dialogue  took  place : — 

M.  Legouve  :  "  Why,  Madame,  do  you  not  under- 
take my  Medea  ?  " 

"  For  a  very  good  reason,  my  dear  Sir,"  I  replied. 
"  I  have  always  been  so  fond  of  children  in  general 
that  even  while  I  was  yet  quite  young,  when  I  saw  a 
pretty  baby  with  its  sweet  little  face,  chubby  cheeks, 
and  fair  curly  hair,  either  carried  by  its  nurse  or  led 
by  the  hand,  I  rushed  to  kiss  it,  without  saying  either 
'With  your  leave,'  or  'By  your  leave,'  or  caring  a 
whit  for  the  black  looks  bestowed  on  me  by  its  attend- 
ant. You  can  imagine  from  this  the  intense  affec- 
tion I  feel  for  my  own  children,  and  even  upon  the 
stage  I  could  not  bring  myself  fictitiously  to  kill  those 
confided  to  me  by  the  author  !  Now,  in  Italy,  we 
have  a  Afedea  who  is  a  favorite  character  with  the 
capocomici,  and  actresses  are  only  too  glad  to  add 
her  to  their  repertoire ;  but,  as  for  me,  however  good 
the  actress  might  be  who  played  the  part,  I  would 
never  go  to  see  her." 

M.  Legouve  :  "  Ah,  well !  mv  Medea  murders  her 
children  in  such  a  way  that  the  audience  is  left  to 
guess  who  does  the  deed,  and  do  not  actually  see  her 
do  it."  ^ 

"  Pardon  me,  M.  Legouve,  but  you  will  never  per- 
suade me  that  the  horror  inspired  by  the  mere  idea 
of  such  a  crime  being  committed  by  the  heroine  of 
the  play  would  not  prejudice  the  public  against  her." 


200  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

M.  Legouvd :  "  No,  it  does  not,  I  assure  you. 
Will  you  do  me  the  favor  and  read  my  Medea  for 
yourself,  and  you  will  then  see  with  your  own  eyes 
the  truth  of  my  assertion." 

"  So  be  it,  then,  for  I  would  not  seem  discourteous 
after  your  extreme  politeness  to  me.  But  I  hope 
you  will  not  be  offended  if  I  warn  3'ou  that  it  will 
never  be  possible  for  me  to  admit  your  work  into  my 
repertoire^ 

Without  being  in  the  slightest  degree  amazed  at 
my  frankness,  M.  Legouve  took  his  leave  in  these 
words : 

"  Yes,  yes,  only  read  it,  and  we  will  talk  about  it 
afterwards." 

The  next  day,  simply  that  I  might  not  be  accused 
of  breaking  my  word,  I  devoted  my  half-hour  of 
leisure,  while  my  maid  brushed  my  hair,  to  read  the 
play.  I  did  it,  however,  in  the  belief  that  I  was 
wasting  my  time,  for  it  seemed  to  me  quite  impossi- 
ble that  the  author  should  have  been  able  to  avoid 
the  final  catastrophe.  Thus  I  was  by  no  means  dis- 
posed to  form  a  favorable  judgment  of  the  work. 

It  is,  therefore,  more  easy  to  imagine  than  to  des- 
cribe my  surprise  when  I  discovered  I  was  so  much 
interested  that  I  found  myself  indulging  in  such 
gestures  and  such  exclamations  that  my  astonished 
maid  cried  out :  "  Good  heavens,  Signora !  what  is 
the  matter  ?  I  cannot  dress  your  hair." 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  I  answered,  "it  is  nothing.  Do 
not  mind  me." 

When  I  had  finished  the  first  Act,  which  I  found 


1 


MEDEA.  201 

far  superior  to  any  other  play  on  the  same  subject 
that  I  had  seen,  I  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh  !  it  is  beautiful !  What  magnificent  situa- 
tions !  How  could  Rachel  have  refused  to  undertake 
such  a  splendid  part  ?     I  cannot  understand  it." 

My  interest  increased  after  the  second  Act.  I 
waited  the  climax  with  the  utmost  anxiety.  I  longed 
to  see  how  my  author  would  manage  the  murder  of 
the  children,  by  their  mother's  own  hands  without 
either  making  her  actually  do  the  deed,  or  arousing  the 
horror  of  the  audience.  Words  failed  me  to  express 
the  enthusiasm  which  the  reading  of  the  whole  tragedy 
inspired  in  me.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  M.  Legouv^ 
found  means  to  represent  the  murder  to  my  sense  as 
both  just  and  necessary. 

The  Corinthians  had  determined  to  seize  the  chil- 
dren and  murder  Medea,  in  revenge  for  the  death  of 
the  wretched  Creusa,  whom  Medea  had  killed  in  a 
moment  of  savage  jealousy.  What  course  remained 
open  to  the  persecuted  mother  ?  Should  she  yield, 
and  abandon  her  sons  to  Jason,  certain  that  they 
would  be  brought  up  in  hatred  of  her.  No,  her 
whole  soul  revolted  against  such  an  idea.  To  face 
the  infuriated  mob,  which  had  gathered  against  her, 
would  only  be  to  court  death  for  herself,  without 
saving  her  children  ;  and  in  this  frightful  dilemma, 
she  is  seized  by  an  overwhelming  impulse  herself  to 
destroy  her  offspring.  Indeed,  no  other  course  is 
open  to  her,  possessed  as  she  is  by  the  Furies,  and 
therefore,  quick  as  lightning,  she  plunges  her  dagger 
into  those  innocent  breasts.     M.  Leirouve  had  told 


202  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

me  the  truth,  and  he  had  in  this  way  succeeded  in  soft- 
ening the  horror  of  this  dreadful  deed. 

As  she  became  aware  of  the  roar  of  the  advancing 
crowd,  Medea  looked  about  her  for  a  way  of  escape, 
but  on  every  side  hearing  the  cries  of  men  thirsting 
for  her  blood,  and  seeing  that  her  children  were  on  the 
point  of  being  torn  from  her,  she  leaped  with  one 
bound  on  the  altar  of  Saturn.  The  crowd  poured  in 
from  every  corner  of  the  stage,  completely  surround- 
ing her,  and  their  sudden  exclamalions  of  horror 
made  the  spectators  aware  of  the  terrible  deed. 

When  I  reached  this  point,  my  admiration  of  the 
masterly  treatment  quite  overpowered  me.  I  let  the 
book  drop  from  my  hands,  and  henceforth  exper- 
ienced the  most  ardent  desire  to  attempt  the  part. 

The  next  time  I  saw  M.  Legouve  1  could  hardly 
refrain  from  throwing  myself  on  his  neck  with  de- 
light. 

"Yes,  3^es,"  I  cried.  "I  shall  be  overjo3'ed  to  act 
your  Medea,  and  we  will  arrange  the  last  scene  in 
such  a  way  as  to  conceal  the  death  of  the  children 
from  the  public.  Without  losing  time,  let  us  consider 
who  shall  translate  your  verses  into  Italian.  Fortu- 
nately there  were  then  among  the  Italian  colony  in 
Paris,  many  most  eminent  literary  men,  whom  love 
of  their  country  had  driven  into  exile.  Among  these 
Montanelli  seemed,  upon  consideration,  the  best 
fitted  for  the  task,  and  he  willingly  accepted  it.  Our 
heroic  compatriot,  Daniel  Manin,  and  many  others, 
approved  the  choice  j  and  it  was  decided  that  the 
play  should  be  ready  for  the  ensuing  season. 

When  I  returned  to  Paris  in  the  spring  of   1856, 


MEDEA. 


203 


eleven  days  were  spent  in  arduous  rehearsals,  and  in 
hastening  the  final  preparations  for  the  performance. 
People  were  already  talking  about  it.  I  thought  of 
nothing — dreamed  of  nothing — but  Medea.  The 
choice  of  my  costume  also  greatly  occupied  my  mind  ; 
for  all  my  researches  had  not  enabled  me  to  fix  on 
anything  I  considered  altogether  suitable.  At  last 
the  famous  painter,  Ary  Schefster,  whom  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  know  intimately,  and  whose  esteem 
and  friendship  I  was  proud  to  possess — volunteered 
his  aid.  He  designed  my  costume  down  to  its  most 
minute  details,  and  really  succeeded  admirably,  ex- 
cepting being  rather  embarrassed  by  the  large  size  of 
my  mantle,  which,  though  necessary  at  my  first 
appearance  on  the  stage,  interfered  somewhat  with 
the  various  attitudes  and  gestures  I  had  imagined. 
By  simple  and  natural  movement,  he  had  arranged 
that  I  was  to  make  the  large  and  artistically  disposed 
folds  fall  behind  my  shoulders ;  to  carry  this  out 
successfully  was  my  care. 

The  8th  of  April  was  fixed  for  the  first  representa- 
tion, and  I,  who  by  a  natural  instinct  would  never 
have  anything  deferred  when  it  had  been  once 
arranged,  was  determined  that  all  should  be  ready 
for  that  evening — and  ready  it  was.  In  those  days  a 
theatrical  novelty  excited  the  greatest  and  most  eager 
curiosity.  Both  the  French  and  Italian  play-goers 
were  in  a  state  of  excitement.  The  French  were 
desirous  to  see  and  judge  whether  Mdlle.  Rachel  had 
really  been  wrong  to  refuse  the  part,  after  having  not 
only  approved,  accepted  and  studied  it,  but  also 
after  having  shown  her  artistic  interest  in  it  many 


204  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

times,  and  having  complimented  the  author  on  the 
way  he  had  conceived  and  carried  out  the  part.  The 
Italians  invested  my  experiment  with  an  almost 
national  importance,  and  the  excitement  among  them 
was  consequently  immense.  All  those  who  sympa- 
thized with  our  nation,  or  who  were  intimate  with  our 
principal  exiles,  shared  in  their  eagerness.  Among 
these  I  will  only  mention  Alexandre  Dumas,  Jules 
Janin,  and  my  very  dear  friends  M.  and  Madame 
Planat  de  la  Faye.* 

Before  the  play  began  many  persons  came  into  my 
dressing-room  to  offer  me  their  best  wishes  for  my 
success.  Among  them  was  Ary  Schefster,  who 
desired  to  see  the  effect  of  my  costume,  and  decide 
whether  I  had  been  able  to  arrange  the  folds  of  my  large 
mantle  so  as  not  to  incommode  me,  while  producing 
the  effect  he  desired.  I  showed  him  my  ingenious 
device  for  carrying  out  both  purposes  ;  and  when  the 
explanation  was  over,  he  hastened  away  to  join  his 
family,  so  that  he  might  not  lose  one  word  of  the 
play. 

The  Salle  Ventadour  was  crammed  with  a  large  and 
most  fashionable  audience.  Madame  de  la  Valliere, 
daughter  of  the  eminent  M.  Legouve,  was  almost 
overpowered   by   her   emotions.     The    author,    who 

*  These  latter  were  on  most  intimate  and  affectionate  terms 
with  Daniel  Manin,  whose  sad  exile  and  death  they  solaced  and 
comforted  by  their  deep  attachment.  Madame  Planat  wrote 
his  life  in  two  volumes,  from  the  most  authentic  documents, 
and  in  acknowledgment  of  her  work,  and  of  her  great  love  for 
Italy,  the  city  of  Venice  conferred  on  her  the  honor  of  citizen- 
ship. 


MEDEA.  205 

knew  that  he  had  a  high  stake  in  the  success  of  the 
evening,  in  consequence  of  the  notoriety  caused  the 
year  before  by  the  Rachel  incident,  could  not,  with 
all  his  efforts,  disguise  his  anxiety,  which  he  betrayed 
by  his  minute  attention  to  every  stage  detail,  although 
he  did  it  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  watching  over 
the  interests  of  a  friend. 

As  for  me  ! — well !  in  spite  of  the  interest  every  one 
showed  in  me,  my  hands  were  like  ice,  and  I  did 
nothing  but  rub  them  together  with  a  constant  and 
rapid  movement,  while  I  said  to  those  who  stood 
nearest  me — "There  seems  to  be  a  very  great 
draught  from  the  roof  this  evening  ;  I  am  so  cold,  I 
am  shivering  all  over." 

The  curtain  rose — a  most  flattering  murmur  an- 
nounced the  attention  and  sympathy  of  the  public. 
The  magnificent  lines  of  Orpheus  (Signor  Boccomini) 
were  followed  by  prolonged  applause.  Oh !  how 
these  early  manifestations  of  pleasure  on  the  part  of 
the  audience,  give  heart  and  courage  to  the  actors 
who  have  yet  to  present  themselves. 

At  last  the  moment  of  my  appearance  arrived,  and 
I  stood  already  prepared  on  the  platform  of  the  shak- 
ing piece  which  represented  the  base  of  the  mountain 
I  was  slowly  and  with  difficulty  to  ascend.  I  carried 
my  little  Melanthe  in  my  arms,  while  his  tiny  head 
rested  on  my  shoulder,  and  the  part  of  my  ample 
mantle,  which  was  afterwards  to  hang  behind  my 
back,  and  the  arrangement  of  which  had  so  pre- 
occupied Ary  Schefster,  now  covered  half  my  head 
and  almost  the  whole  of  my  child's.  I  had  placed 
the  other  boy,  Lycaon,  at  my  left  side,  making  him 


206  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

put  one  hand  within  mj'  girdle,  as  he  leant  against 
me  in  an  attitude  of  utter  exhaustion. 

The  songs  of  the  Canephorae,  who  accompanied 
Creusa  to  the  temple,  preceded  my  entrance.  When 
they  caught  sight  of  me  the  spectators  burst  into  loud 
and  prolonged  applause,  which  only  ceased  when  I 
began  to  speak.  Arrived  at  the  summit  of  the  mount- 
ain, I  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  attitude  of  a  woman 
utterly  exhausted.  I  was  indebted  for  this  "pose,'^ 
and  for  many  others  in  my  studies  of  tragedy,  to  the 
famous  group  of  the  Niobe,  which  occupies  the  Sala 
della  Niobe  in  the  famous  Uffizi  Gallery  at  Florence. 
When  I  began  to  speak,  my  mournful  and  subdued 
tone  of  voice  was  such  as  to  show  that  my  prostration 
of  body  arose  not  merely  from  the  toil  and  privations 
encountered  during  a  long  and  arduous  journey 
through  valleys  and  over  steeps,  but  also  from  the 
misery  of  witnessing  the  sufferings  of  my  famishing 
children.  Alas !  what  could  I  offer  them  but  my 
blood!  This  state  of  mind  Legouve  describes  in  the 
most  moving  and  affecting  manner. 

Poor   little  Alelanthe,  who  had  sunk  down  quite 
worn  out  beside  his  brother   on   the  steps  of   the 
statue  of  Diana,  says  in  pitiful  tones — 
"  Mother,  I  am  wear}'." 

Medea. — "  Darling,  you  break  my  heart !  no  roof  have  we  to 
shelter  us.     This  bare  rock  must  be  your  pillow  to-day." 

Lycaon. — "Mother,  I  am  hungry." 

At  these  heart-breaking  words,  I  assumed  an 
attitude  of  despair  as  though  asking  myself,  "  What 
can  I  do  to  help  them  ?  "  Then,  almost  beside  my- 
self, I  exclaimed  : 


MEDEA.  207 

"  Why  cannot  I  open  my  veins  to  their  last  drop  and  bid 
them  partake,  and  from  my  blood  draw  the  nourishment  they 
need?" 

This  tone  of  prostration  continued  through  the 
greater  part  of  the  Act.  But  when  I  began  to  recount 
the  sufferings  I  had  endured  through  my  lost  love, 
then,  like  the  drooping  plants  which  are  revived  by 
the  beneficent  dew,  I  too  regained  my  vigor ;  and 
during  the  magnificent  scene  with  Creusa,  in  which, 
step  by  step,  I  revealed  the  grief  that  was  gnawing  at 
my  heart,  dreading  that  while  I  was  wandering  about 
in  my  wretchedness,  seeking  some  trace  of  my 
beloved  who  had  left  me,  I  should  find  him  living 
happy  in  the  arms  of  some  rival — my  whole  appear- 
ance became  transformed,  my  limbs  worked  convul- 
sively, my  eyes  blazed,  my  mouth  seemed  to  breathe 
forth  poison ;  and  when  Creusa  asked  me  what  I 
would  do  to  Jason  and  his  affianced  bride  if  I  came 
upon  them,  I  answered  with  the  aspect  of  a  fury, 
looking  at  her  with  malevolent  eyes,  while  I  seized 
her  hand  and  drew  her  to  the  front  of  the  stage — 

"  What  does  the  leopard  in  the  forest  depths,  when  pounc- 
ing on  his  prey  with  hideous  roar  ?  He  bears  it  to  his  den, 
and  tears  the  bloody  carcass  limb  from  limb." 

As  I  uttered  these  last  words  I  assumed  the  air  of 
a  wild  beast  gloating  over  his  victim,  while,  with  my 
hands,  I  made  as  though  I  were  indeed  dismembering 
my  prey,  my  whole  expression  and  attitude  being 
calculated  to  excite  the  utmost  dread  and  horror. 

This  posture,  ferocious  as  it  was,  seemed  to  me 
strictly  logical,  and  in  accordance  not  merely  with 
the   disposition  of  Medea,   but  with  that  of  every 


20S  ADELAIDE  R IS  TORT. 

woman  of  strong  character  capable  of  extremes 
either  in  love  or  hate.  And  this  conviction  tended 
to  make  me  a  just  judge,  and  served  me  as  a  pattern 
in  the  frequent  transitions  of  the  part.  Thus,  by 
profound  stud}',  I  succeeded  in  developing  this 
double  passion  as  the  author  had  imagined  it,  with- 
out departing  from  the  truth. 

But  the  scene  changed  with  the  unexpected  appear- 
ance of  Orpheus.  At  the  assurance  he  gave  me  that 
Jason  was  still  alive,  my  features  lighted  up  with  a 
passionate  joy ;  but  when  I  further  discovered  in 
Creusa  the  woman  who  was  my  rival,  and  heard  her 
rashly  defy  my  anger  with  the  words — 

"  Hold  !  respect  the  hero  who  has  plighted  his  faith  to  me"; 

I  replied  with  a  stern  look — 

"  You  love  him  ? " 
and  Creusa  said — 

"  Yes,  I  love  him,  and  to-morrow  the  high  priest  will  hail 
him  as  my  husband." 

Like  a  lioness  who  is  determined  her  prey  shall  not 
escape  her,  I  exclaimed  in  a  mocking  voice — 

"  You  will  marry  him  ?     We  shall  see." 

I  extended  my  right  hand  towards  her  with  a  resolute 
air,  as  though  daring  her  to  defy  me,  and  stood  thus 
until  the  curtain  fell. 

This  first  Act  was  received  with  the  greatest  enthu- 
siasm, and  I  was  called  for  several  times  by  the 
excited  audience.  The  Foyer  (green-room),  as  it  is 
named  by  the  actors,  was  crowded  with  people. 
Admirers  were  profuse  in  their  compliments,  friends 


MEDEA. 


209 


wrung  my  hands  with  emotion  too  deep  for  words. 
Others  gathered  round  me  in  silence,  unable  to  speak 
their  sentiments.  M.  Legouve  and  I  were  indeed 
the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  hour.  All  united  in 
expressing  their  astonishment  at  the  wonderful  way 
in  which  each  part  had  been  studied  and  each  detail 
carried  out  after  such  a  small  number  of  rehearsals. 
This  would  probably  not  have  been  so  much  a  matter 
of  surprise  in  Italy,  where  theatrical  conditions  are 
much  less  florid  than  among  other  nations,  and  where 
it  is  essential  to  attract  the  public  by  the  production 
of  constant  novelties,  and  therefore  but  little  time 
can  be  given.  In  France  on  the  contrary,  the  neces- 
sary preparations  sometimes  occupy  six  months. 

The  second  Act  abounds  in  fine  situations  and  mar- 
vellous scenic  effects,  which  offer  the  actress  a  large 
scope  for  the  display  of  her  dramatic  capacity.  Chief 
among  the  former  is  the  scene  between  Medea  and 
Jason.  When  Jason  reproaches  himself  with  having 
involuntarily  condemned  his  children  to  a  life  of  toil 
and  privation,  and  dreading  to  know  that  they  should 
be  exposed  to  further  shame  and  suffering,  tells  her 
that  he  will  do  all  in  his  power  to  rescue  them  from 
such  a  fate,  provided  their  mother  sacrifice  herself  for 

them,  I  eagerly  ask — 

"  How  ? 
Jason. —   By  breaking  our  marriage  tie  ! 

I  am  for  the  moment  stunned  by  such  a  proposal. 
Then  with  a  great  effort  at  self-control,  I  add,  with 
scarcely  repressed  irony — 

"  Ha  I  you  will  repudiate  me !" 
and  already  the  tempest  his  words  had  awakened 
14 


210  ADELAIDE  RISTORT. 

within  me  made  my  eyes  flash.  I  will  not  stop  here 
to  enumerate,  even  briefly,  the  thousand  suggestions 
and  questionings  that  j^assed  between  us  in  the  few 
lines  preceding  those  in  which  I  answered  his  argu- 
ments with  the  sarcastic  words  beginning — "  I  have 
foreseen  all,"  and  gave  place  to  the  accents  of  hatred 
and  revenge  in  keeping  with  Medea's  indomitable 
temper,  and  which  must  breathe  in  every  word  of  mine 
during  the  progress  of  the  scene.  And  now  I  gave 
full  vent  to  the  fury  that  raged  within  me,  which  I  had 
hitherto  restrained  in  some  degree.  Weakness,  pas- 
sionate affection,  were  both  forgotten  in  the  just 
resentment  of  an  outraged,  humiliated  soul,  injured 
in  its  tenderest  and  strongest  feelings,  and  all  my 
fury  burst  forth  as  I  answered  him — 

"  Yes !  Lacerate  my  heart  with  thy  base  treachery,  discard 
me  and  elect  another  in  my  place.  I  can  understand  it,  such 
crimes  are  of  thy  race.  But  to  speak  of  thy  children,  to  feign 
anxiety  for  their  welfare  while  thy  heart  is  busy  with  adulterous 
plans,  to  mingle  their  innocence  with  thy  guilty  thoughts,  and 
shield  thy  infamy  beneath  the  name  of  father  !  This  exceeds 
all  bearing — this  thrills  me  with  horror." 

After  my  absolute  refusal  to  consent  to  the  rupture 
of  our  marriage  tie,  and  ascertaining  from  his  cruel 
and  insulting  words  that  he  defied  my  anger,  and  that 
all  affection  for  me  had  died  within  him,  in  spite  of 
myself  I  remained  strangely  agitated.  My  deepest 
grief,  however,  was  when,  weary  of  my  reproaches, 
and  caring  little  for  my  refusal,  Jason  informed  me 
that  the  very  next  day  I  should  be  banished  the 
country,  and  Creusa  would  become  his  wife,  while 
the  winds  that  drove  me  from  his  shores  would  waft 


MEDEA.  ^        211 

me  the  strains  of  their  wedding  hymn.  These  men- 
aces seemed  to  petrify  me.  My  love  changed  to  the 
deepest  hatred.  Like  a  torrent  of  burning  lava  I 
poured  forth  the  words — 

"  Blood !  Blood !  Oh,  for  something  wherewith  to  wring,  to 
lacerate  his  heart!  something  atrocious — fearful — hideous — 
some  punishment  unknown  to  human  nature,  but  equal,  if  it  be 
possible,  to  my  hatred." 

And  like  a  wounded  wild  animal,  I  paced  round  and 
round  the  stage,  as  though  seeking  for  some  new  and 
terrible  mode  of  vengeance.  Even  the  voices  of  my 
children,  who  ran  towards  me,  calling  me  by  the  en- 
dearing name  of  mother,  could  not  calm  my  fury; 
for  when  they  appealed  to  me  with  the  words,  "  Hear 
thy  sons  ! "  I  replied  vehemently — 

"The  children  of  Jason  are  no  sons  of  mine ! " 

Lycaon  :  "  Dost  thou  love  us  no  longer  ? " 

"  No  [I  answered  in  bitter  accents],  accursed  race !  hence  I — 
all,  all  I  hate,  but  ye  far  more  than  all !  Because  ye  spring 
from  him ;  because  to  him  I  owe  ye,  him  whom  ye  both 
resemble." 

Then,  beholding  the  forlorn  air  of  the  poor  little 
innocent  ones,  I  cried — 

"  Oh,  Jason,  wilt  thou  pursue  me  with  thy  semblance  and  thy 
sons ! " 

And  the  affection  which  reigned  all-powerful  within 

me  awoke  once  more  ;  deeply  touched,  I  continued — 

"  Thy  children !  no,  no, — mine  !  " 

I  Stretched  out  my  arms  towards  them  in  a  trans- 
port of  maternal  affection,  and  they  at  once  rushed 
into  my  embrace.     I  threw  myself  upon  a  seat,  took 


212  ADELAIDE  R  IS  TOR  I. 

the  youngest  on  my  knee,  and  pressed  the  other  with 
rapture  to  my  heart;  thus  forming  a  group  which 
produced  the  greatest  effect  upon  the  audience.  My 
true  mother's  love  overflowed  in  my  next  words — 

"  I  whose  love  for  you  has  known  no  bounds,  I  who  in  this 
wide  world  have  naught  but  you ;  I  hate  you  ?  I  send  you  from 
me  ?  Wretch  that  I  am  I  What  are  you  to  Jason,  you  unfort- 
unate children  of  Medea!  I  should  have  broken  my  own 
heart,  but  not  touched  his!  Does  he  know  anything  of  you? 
His  heart  is  filled  with  one  idea,  one  name,  one  love, — 
Creusa ! " 

As  I  Uttered  this  name  all  my  fierce  jealousy  once 
more  awoke  within  me.  The  children,  terrified  at 
the  change,  shrank  from  my  embrace.  Left  alone, 
the  sole  idea  of  vengeance  possessed  me.  I  would 
destroy  my  rival.     I  would  stab  her,  for — 

"  The  heart  then  serves  as  guide  to  the  blow,  my  arm  would 
grudge  to  leave  its  work  to  poison." 

I  pulled  a  dagger  from  beneath  my  peplum,  and  at 
sight  of  it  exclaimed  with  savage  exultation :  "  Oh, 
joy !  "  Then  in  a  deep  voice  and  cautious  tone  I 
continued — 

"  At  night,  gliding  stealthily  along  the  sombre  walls,  I  will 
enter,  spectre-like,  the  room  where  she  sleeps,  and  when  I  see 
her  prostrate  on  her  downy  couch,  and  at  my  mercy,  I  will 
brandish  on  high  my  avenging  weapon  and  plunge  it  in  her 
bosom  to  seek  out  her  soul.  When  she  opens  her  eyes  she 
will  see  me  !  At  her  death-cry  the  palace  will  awaken.  Lover, 
friends,  and  parents  will  rush  in  horror-stricken,  and  behold 
Medea  standing,  avenged,  over  Creusa's  lifeless  corpse  I  " 

While  I  uttered  these  last  words  I  drew  myself  up 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  appear  of  gigantic  size,  hold- 
ing my  dagger  tightly  clasped  aloft,  so  that  men 
might  well  have  been  thunderstruck  at  my  aspect. 


MEDEA,  2 1 3 

At  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Creusa,  the  idea 
of  instantly  carrying  out  my  revenge  came  like  a 
lightning  flash  into  my  mind,  and  filled  me  with  a 
savage  joy,  but  I  rapidly  hid  myself  behind  a  column 
in  order  to  choose  a  propitious  moment  to  fall  upon 
her.  As  I  followed  Creusa  with  the  intention  of 
surprising  her,  we  suddenly  came  upon  one  another 
face  to  face.  The  unhappy  girl  was  looking  for  me, 
with  the  generous  intention  of  warning  me  that  an 
excited  crowd  was  besieging  the  palace  and  thirsting 
for  my  blood — 

"  'Tis  thee  these  angry  crowds  pursue.     Let  them  but  cross 

the  threshold,  and  thou  art  lost !     I  come " 

Medea  :  "  For  what  ? " 
Creusa  :  "  To  save  thee  1 " 

This  answer  disarmed  Medea's  wrath,  who,  with  a 
quick  return  of  the  instincts  of  her  royal  race,  repeat- 
ed in  astonishment — 

"  Thou  to  save  me ! — save  me !  " 

When  I  had  spoken,  I  suddenly  became  conscious 
that  I  was  still  grasping  my  dagger,  and,  ashamed  of 
myself,  I  hastened  to  hide  it  in  silence. 

Then  followed  a  short  scene  with  Creusa,  in  which 
I  prayed  and  besought  her,  in  accents  full  of  anguish, 
to  leave  me  the  man  who  was  all  the  world  to  me  ; 
but  at  her  repeated  refusal  my  hatred  returned  in 
tenfold  force.  I  rose  up,  ready  to  spring  upon  her, 
when  Creonte,  alarmed  by  her  daughter's  cry,  came, 
in  terrified  haste,  to  her  rescue,  followed  by  a  crowd 
of  people.  In  the  last  scene,  while  my  children  cling 
closely  to  my  side  lest  they  should  be  dragged  from 


214  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

me  by  the  infuriated  mob  who  carried  stones  in  their 
hands  ready  to  cast  at  me,  Orpheus  suddenly  appear- 
ed, and  addressed  the  raging  multitude  in  an  authori- 
tative voice — 

"Let  him  who  loves  not  his  own  sons,  be  the  first  to  tear 
these  children  from  their  mother  I  " 

At  sight  of  him  the  people,  awestruck,  stood  aside, 
letting  the  stones  fall  from  their  hands.  Creonte, 
Jason,  and  Creusa  felt  in  their  turn  the  irresistible 
fascination  of  the  divine  poet.  Reassured  by  the 
words  of  Orpheus  who  promised  me  a  safe  escape,  I 
wrapped  both  my  sons  in  my  mantle,  and,  certain 
that  all  would  now  be  well,  retreated  slowly,  murmur- 
ing to  myself — 

"  At  last  I  have  found  my  revenge." 

I  need  not  insist  upon  the  effect  all  these  situations 
produced  on  the  public. 

The  stage  was  arranged  in  a  truly  artistic  manner 
for  my  appearance  in  the  third  Act.  On  the  side  to 
the  left  of  the  spectator,  a  large  curtain,  draped  in 
the  Greek  style,  indicated  the  entrance  to  a  room, 
which  was  reached  by  a  short  flight  of  steps.  When 
the  drop  scene  rose  Jason  was  discovered  listening 
impatiently  to  the  admonitions  of  Orpheus, 

Creusa  comes  on  the  scene  unexpectedly,  leading 
his  children  in  either  hand,  and  delighted  by  their 
caresses.  It  is  quite  a  domestic  group,  and  gives 
opportunity  for  the  expression  of  many  tender  senti- 
ments towards  the  children  on  the  part  of  Creusa, 
who  desires  to  adopt  them  both  as  her  own.     Jason, 


I 


MEDEA.  21$ 

full  of  these  glad  prospects,  withdraws,  followed  by 
his  dear  ones  and  by  the  gloomy  Orpheus.  At  this 
instant  I  show  myself  on  the  threshold  of  my  cham- 
ber. I  descend  the  first  step  with  one  foot,  and, 
raising  in  my  right  hand  the  heavy  curtain,  I  remain 
in  the  shadow  of  it,  a  cold  observer  of  this  new  proof 
of  Jason's  treachery. 

In  the  short  monologue  that  follows,  I  confirm 
myself  all  the  more  in  my  thoughts  of  vengeance, 
and  only  wait  the  fall  of  night  to  fly  with  my  children 
while  the  palace  is  full  of  the  jocund  guests  who 
are  celebrating  the  auspicious  wedding  of  Creusa ! 
These  last  words  I  pronounce  in  the  sarcastic  tone 
of  one  who  has  prepared  quite  a  different  close  to 
the  festivities.  Here  Orpheus  returns,  bringing  an 
order  from  Creonte.  He  tells  me  that  among  the 
answers  he  had  received  from  the  oracle  was  one 
warning  that  the  presence  of  Medea  at  the  marriage 
would  be  fatal  to  the  bride ;  and  he  ordered  me  to 
depart  instantly,  but  without  my  children.  Such  a 
decree  pierces  Medea's  heart,  for  her  maternal  love 
is  stronger  than  her  hate,  and  she  entreats  Orpheus 
to  intercede  for  her  with  the  king  that  he  will  restore 
her  sons  to  her.  In  the  following  scene  every- 
thing conduces  to  show  the  strain  of  humanity  exist- 
ing in  this  woman  who  is  subjected  to  such  severe 
trials,  and  this  study  served  to  prove  how  difficult  it 
is  to  give  a  correct  representation  of  such  a  strange 
personality,  and  to  bring  out  in  their  true  analogies 
the  constantly  opposing  and  contrasting  passions  by 
which  she  is  incessantly  torn. 

Finding  all  my  prayers  and  entreaties  vain,  I  hum- 


2  1 6  -4  DELA  IDE  RIS  TORI. 

bled  myself  so  far,  at  last,  as  to  beseech  the  inflexible 
Jason  to  allow  me  to  depart  with  my  sons;  but  hear- 
ing that  he  would  only  consent  for  one  to  accompany 
me,  I  turned  with  the  most  moving  expression  of 
countenance  towards  Creusa,  the  king,  and  Jason, 
and  besought  them  again,  with  reiterated  prayers,  to 
grant  my  request.  But  the  decision  was  irrevocable. 
Then,  seeing  myself  abandoned  even  by  my  children, 
who  were  clinging  to  Creusa  in  dread  lest  they  should 
have  to  go  with  me — deaf  to  every  word  of  comfort 
that  was  addressed  to  me,  I  implored  to  be  left  alone, 
a  prey  to  my  grief.  Presently  I  discovered  that  my 
children  were  gone,  and  with  a  breaking  heart  I 
cried — 

"  My  sons  !  my  sons  !  " 

and  fell,  as  though  deprived  of  my  senses,  on  the 
steps  of  the  altar  erected  to  Saturn.  After  a  short 
pause,  I  commenced  the  following  powerful  mono- 
logue : — 

"Alone!  Alone  in  the  world  !  Father,  husband,  children  I 
all  are  gone !     Thou  weepest,  Medea,  thou  !     .     .     ." 

But  a  feeling  of  shame  succeeded  that  of  despair. 
I  blushed  as  I  saw  my  hands  glistening  with  the 
tears  that  had  fallen  from  my  brimming  eyes,  and  I 
exclaimed — 

"  And  Jason  ?  He  triumphs !  Yes  !  thanks  to  me  his  every 
wish  is  fulfilled.  Our  union  was  a  burden  to  him.  I  have  dis- 
solved it.  He  asked  for  my  sons,  and  I  have  surrendered  them 
to  him !     My  own  hand  has  given  him  to  his  beloved  one!  " 

Then,  step  by  step,  I  went  over  the  wrongs  I  had 
endured,  until,  stung  by  the  remembrance  that  I  had 
myself — 


MEDEA.  217 

"  Unconsciously  aided  and  assisted  Jason  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  happiness," 

my  fury  broke  forth  once  more,  and  while  I  said  the 
words — 

"My  own  hand  has  given,"  &c., 

I  leaped  to  my  feet,  and  shook  my  head  resolutely  as 
though  to  free  myself  from  the  load  of  shame  which 
seemed  as  if  it  would  crush  me.  But  the  picture  my 
imagination  drew  of  the  transports  of  Jason  and  his 
bride,  was  too  much  for  me ;  I  shouted — 

"  Oh,  ye  infernal  gods !  Help  me  !  help  me  1  Blood !  tears  1 
groans !     The  avenging  steel !     All  these  I  crave  1 " 

At  this  point  I  decided  to  exterminate  them  all — 

"  As  yet  I  scarce  know  what  I  do.  But  I  am  resolved  some 
hideous  crime,  throughout  this  terrified  land  shall  shroud  me 
with  a  veil  of  horror,  stained  with  blood ! — that  of  Jason, 
Creusa,  her  father,  my  own  children " 

But  the  recollection  of  those  dear  ones  suffices  some- 
what to  calm  my  fury,  and  I  began  to  be  horror- 
stricken  at  the  idea  of  killing  them  with  my  own 
hand.  However,  as  I  reflected  that  such  a  blow 
would  overwhelm  Jason  with  eternal  sorrow,  I  crushed 
back  the  cry  of  my  better  nature ;  giving  to  the  fol- 
lowing verses  all  the  force  of  the  madness  I  no  longer 
feared — 

"  Let  me  die,  provided  only  that  Jason's  grief  be  sempiternal, 
— that  my  fell  deed  create  for  him  innumerable  tortures,  and 
that  the  infernal  deities  of  my  own  land  do  claim  him  for  their 
natural  prey !     Oh,  thou  pale  god  of  gloomy  Tauris !  " 

And  here  turning  towards  the  statue  of  Saturn,  I 
burst  out  impetuously — 


2l8  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

"  Thou,  Saturn,  above  all  others,  whose  worship  doth  delight 
in  infant  slaughter, — hear  me  !  Thy  terrible  altars  love  the 
blood  of  children  sacrificed  by  their  mothers'  hands!  This 
dread  offering  thou  shalt  have  from  me  I  But,  in  return,  I 
claim  thee  as  an  accomplice !  Fix  then  an  undying  vulture 
into  Jason's  breast,  which  shall  gnaw  his  heart  eternally.  In- 
crease his  love  for  Creusa;  for  then  her  loss  will  cause  him 
tenfold  grief.  Grant  him  even  goodness  and  a  parent's  heart, 
that,  wandering  and  outcast,  he  may  live  a  prey  to  sorrow,  and 
die  as  desperate  as  I  shall  die  !  " 

At  this  moment  my  children  reappear,  led  by 
Creusa's  nurse ;  I  stayed  my  wild  words  when  I  saw 
them,  terrified  at  my  scarcely  uttered  oath.  I  com- 
manded them  to  avoid  me  lest  I  should  be  forced  to 
sacrifice  them  to  the  implacable  deity.  But,  hearing 
that  Jason  awaits  them  at  the  altar,  as  though  to 
make  them  witnesses  of  his  perfidy,  every  feeling  of 
pity  vanished,  and  I  was  again  a  prey  to  my  mad 
fury,  and  ordered  them  to  approach  me.  I  arranged 
that  after  the  words — 

"  Thou  hast  rightly  said !  Time  presses, — the  hour  is  at 
hand !  Let  them  draw  near.  No !  no  thought  of  pity  shall 
move  me !  father  and  son  struck  by  the  selfsame  blow  must 
both " 

Melanthe  and  Lycaon  should  throw  themselves  before 
me,  grasping  my  knees  with  their  tender  hands,  and 
raising  their  eyes  to  me  in  pitiful  supplication  ;  I  am 
moved  by  their  touch ;  I  let  fall  the  arm  lifted  to 
strike  them ;  my  voice  softened,  my  hands  as  they 
dropped  encountered  theirs,  and  that  contact  pro- 
duced such  a  sentiment  of  affection  in  my  soul,  that 
I   forgot   my  thoughts   of  vengeance,    and,    deeply 


MEDEA.  219 

moved,    I   exclaimed    in   a   voice   overflowing   with 
tenderness : — 

"Their  hands  1  their  little  hands,  I  feel  their  touch  1  I  hes- 
itate ;  my  heart  fails  me — in  spite  of  myself  my  lips  incline  to 
theirs.     Ah !  the  struggle  is  too  hard !  " 

Stooping  to  kiss  them,  but  recollecting  the  oath  I 
had  just  before  sworn  to  Saturn,  I  turned  to  his 
altar,  as  though  imploring  the  deity  to  grant  me  one 
brief  moment  of  joy  before  I  dealt  the  fatal  blow. 
Contemplating  my  sons,  the  maternal  sentiment  awoke 
once  more  in  all  its  strength  within  me  !  After  brief 
struggle  I  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  out  like  one 
intoxicated : — 

"No,  the  effort  is  too  great.  Hence  ye  black  designs!  I 
have  found  my  children  1 " 

Thus  saying,  I  fell  on  my  knees  between  them, 
covering  them  with  kisses,  and  pressing  them  with 
transport  to  my  heart.  At  this  moment  Orpheus 
hastened  towards  me,  urging  me  to  seek  safety  in 
flight  with  my  sons.  I  welcomed  his  proposal  eagerly, 
when  suddenly  a  distant  and  confused  murmur  of 
voices  stayed  our  steps.  A  maid  servant,  dishevelled 
and  in  tears,  ran  in  to  announce  that  Creusa  was 
dying,  murdered  by  a  poisoned  veil.  Distractedly  I 
cried  out — 

"  Yes  !  mine !  the  one  I  gave  her !  " 

When  Orpheus  in  a  fury  exclaimed — 

"  Wretch,  let  thy  sons  be  torn  from  thee  !  " 
"  Never ! " 

I  replied  ;  and,  seizing  little  Melanthe,  I  held  him 


220  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

under  my  arm,  while  with  the  other  I  dragged 
Lycaon.  I  tried  to  escape,  hurrying  precipitately  to 
the  right  side  of  the  stage,  but  the  noise  of  the  infuri- 
ated mob  drove  me  back  in  terrified  haste  to  the 
other.  In  vain  I  sought  safety  in  every  direction. 
The  cries  of  "  Death  !  death  !  "  which  resounded 
throughout  the  palace,  forced  me  to  try  some  other 
way.  At  that  moment  the  mob  broke  in  on  every 
side,  like  an  overwhelming  torrent,  seeking  to  tear 
my  children  from  me  in  accordance  with  the  king's 
command,  who  urged  them  on  with  the  cry — 

"  Seize  them  !  to  death  with  her !  " 
I  exclaimed  desperately — 

"  Never !  you  shall  not  have  them ! " 

and  I  made  one  bound  to  the  altar  of  Saturn,  drag- 
ging my  children  after  me.  The  furious  crowd 
surrounded  me,  closing  me  in  on  every  side ;  when 
suddenly  a  cry  of  horror  burst  from  every  throat, 
which  told  that  the  awful  sacrifice  had  been  consum- 
mated. The  people  fell  back  from  such  a  sight,  and 
let  the  audience  see  Medea  with  her  murdered  sons 
lying  behind  her  at  Saturn's  feet ;  her  eyes  sternly 
set,  her  face  stony,  her  whole  attitude  befitting  that 
of  a  statue  of  remorse. 

After  a  brief  interval  of  general  horror,  the  voice 
of  Jason  was  heard  crying — 

"  Leave  me,  by  my  hand  must  she  perish  1 " 
Orpheus  :  "  Approach  not !  " 
Jason  :         "  The  children  !  " 

"  Slain !  " 

answered  the  afflicted  Creonte.  Jason  now  hurried 
in,  asking  desperately — 


MEDEA.  221 

"  Murdered  ?    Who,  who  has  murdered  them  ? " 
"Thou!" 

exclaimed  Medea,  drawing  herself  up  in  an  imposing 
and  ferocious  attitude,  and  extending  her  arm  to- 
wards Jason,  like  an  image  of  an  inexorable  destiny ! 

And  here  the  curtain  fell. 

I  applied  myself  to  the  study  of  this  subject  with 
irresistible  transport  of  volition.  So  that  I  may  say 
that  I  played  and  considered  Medea  as  the  study  in 
which  I  delighted  most,  and  which  induced  me  to 
have  recourse  to  all  the  resources  of  Art. 

To  use  a  common  phrase,  I  considered  this  tragedy 
my  Cheval  de  Bataille.  I  studied  deeply  the  contrast 
between  two  passions  which,  if  they  are  not  common, 
are  not  even  extraordinary,  Jealousy  and  Hatred  ; 
and  from  the  one  and  the  other  necessarily  deriving 
itself.  Revenge.  It  was  a  study  exemplarily  philo- 
sophical, finding  its  origin  and  explanation  in  the 
tenderness  of  the  human  soul.  I  have  endeavored 
to  express  it  in  the  best  manner  I  was  able.  Return- 
ing to  the  past,  and  feeling  myself  live  again  in  the 
impressions  of  those  hours,  it  seems  to  me  I  have 
understood  it  as  I  ought  and  as  I  could. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PHAEDRA. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice  that  Racine,  in  composing 
his  magnificient  tragedy  of  Phaedra,  was  indebted, 
for  some  of  the  most  truthful  and  beautiful  parts 
of  it,  to  dramas  already  produced  by  those  great 
masters  of  tragic  composition,  Seneca  and  Euripides. 
Both  their  tragedies,  however,  were  called  Hippolytus 
(after  the  hero  instead  of  the  heroine  of  the  piece). 

This  is  what  Racine  says  in  the  preface  to  his 
Phaedra : — 

*'  Quoique  j'aie  suivie  une  route  un  peu  differente  de  celle  de 
cet  auteur  [speaking  of  Euripides]  pour  la  conduite  de  Taction, 
je  n'ai  pas  laisse  d'enrichir  ma  piece  de  tout  ce  qui  m'a  paru 
eclatant  dans  la  sienne."  * 

And  in  fact,  he,  among  others,  found  the  scene 
between  Phaedra  and  her  nurse  (Enone,  so  full  of 
truth  and  pathetic  sentiment,  that  he  imitated  it  very 
closely  when  he  introduced  Phaedra  in  the  first  Act. 
Euripides,  however,  represents  her  as  resolute  to 
die,  because  she  cannot  vanquish,  with  chastity, 
"  that  guilty  and  impure  love." 

*  "  Although  I  have  followed  rather  a  different  plan  for  the 
development  of  the  action  to  that  chosen  by  this  author,  yet  I 
have  not  hesitated  to  enrich  my  piece  by  adding  all  that  seemed 
to  me  most  excellent  in  his." 
(222) 


PHAEDRA.  223 

The  means  imagined  by  Racine  completely  to 
alter  the  character  of  the  action  at  the  close  of  the 
first  Act  are  masterly,  and  quite  original.  He  makes 
her  attendant  Panope  announce  to  the  Queen  the 
reported  death  of  Theseus  at  the  very  moment  when 
the  former,  overwhelmed  with  remorse  for  her  illegit- 
imate passion,  and  certain  that  she  can  never  satisfy 
the  impure  flame  which  renders  her  odious  to  herself, 
has  decided  to  allow  herself  to  die  of  weakness. 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning,  the  joyful  news  pene- 
trates to  her  heart,  for  in  this  event  she  sees  a  way  of 
escape  out  of  the  difficulty  which  rendered  her 
nefarious  love  hopeless. 

"  The  cards  are  broken  which  make  our  love  a  shame  and  a 
disgrace."  * 

The  voice  of  conscience  is  silenced.  The  sweet 
hope  that  Hippolytus,  when  the  death  of  her  husband 
becomes  known,  will  come  to  her,  flashes  across  her 
mind  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  amidst  a  furious  tempest, 
and  like  a  young  girl  who  for  the  first  time  hears 
loving  lips  whisper  sweet  words  into  her  ear,  Phae- 
dra listens  to  the  insinuations  and  persuasions  of  her 
nurse,  swayed  the  while  by  a  thousand  varying  emo- 
tions ;  and  with  a  smile  flickering  upon  her  pallid 
lips,  she  decides  to  save  her  life,  surrendering  herself 
entirely  into  the  hands  of  ffinone,  and  pretending 
I  that  it  is  only  for  the  "love  of  her  son,"  that  she 
renounces  her  firm  intention  to  die. 

Racine,  by  introducing  this  incident  into  his  trag- 

*  "  Vient  de  rompre  les  neux 
Qui  faisaient  tout  le  crime  et  I'horreur  de  nos  feux." — Racine. 


224  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

edy,  has  proved  himself  to  have  fully  comprehended 
all  the  truth  and  beauty  of  the  way  in  which  Seneca, 
in  the  third  scene  of  the  second  Act,  makes  Phaedra 
discover  to  Hippolytus  the  passion  she  cherishes  for 
him. 

He  represents  first  her  perplexity  of  mind  as  she 
resolves  to  tell  her  secret,  then  the  gradual  steps  by 
which  she  is  led  to  her  sudden  confession,  and  finally 
the  horror  of  Hippolytus  as  he  listens  to  her,  and  his 
scornful  disdain.  Racine  differs  from  Seneca,  how- 
ever, by  placing  the  carefully  spun  web  of  lies  which 
(Enone  prepares  to  save  her  beloved  and  unfortunate 
mistress  in  the  third  Act ;  and  he  substitutes  a  noble 
repulse  of  her  attendants'  evil  proposal,  for  the 
wicked  and  tacit  consent  which  Seneca  makes  Phaedra 
give  to  the  culpable  plan,  against  the  carrying  out  of 
which  the  older  dramatist  does  not  make  the  Queen 
raise  a  single  objection.  At  the  same  time  it  is  true 
that  Phaedra,  even  in  Racine,  consents  to  CEnone's 
proposal  to  accuse  the  innocent  Hippolytus  of  attempt- 
ing an  outrage  upon  her,  but  this  is  justified  by  the 
terrible  position  in  which  the  author  places  her. 

Theseus,  though  believed  to  be  dead,  returns,  and 
may  discover  at  any  moment  her  fault  and  her  shame. 
Certain  as  she  is  that  the  man  she  loves  will  not  keep 
silent  about  her  guilty  passion,  Phaedra,  although 
very  shortly  before  she  had  shown  the  greatest  horror 
at  the  idea  of  Hippolytus  suffering  for  her  fault, 
saying — 

"  1 1  dare  I  oppress  and  blacken  innocence  !  " 

"Moi,  que  j'ose  opprimer  et  noircir  I'innocence !  " — Racine. 

now,  when  she  sees  him  approach  with  his  father,  is 
overwhelmed  with  fear.     Her  senses  almost  desert 


PHAEDRA.  225 

her,  and  hardly  comprehending  the  words  of  CEnone, 
she  gives  a  hasty  assent  to  them,  as  being  the  only 
way  in  which  she  can  save  herself  from  the  fury  of 
her  consort,  and  avert  her  own  dishonor. 

Phaedra  :  "  Ah  1  I  see  Hippolytus,  I  see  my  fate  written  in 
his  insolent  eyes  1  Do  what  thou  wilt,  I  abandon  myself  to 
thee.     In  my  perplexity  I  can  do  nothing  for  myself."* 

Seneca,  Euripides  and  Racine  make  Phaedra  die 
in  three  different  ways,  and  for  three  different  rea- 
sons. According  to  the  first,  when  she  learns  the 
tragic  end  of  Hippolytus, — an  end  caused  by  the  false 
and  wicked  accusation  she  brought  against  him  in 
revenge  for  his  refusal  to  listen  to  her — and  sees  the 
mangled  remains  of  the  miserable  youth  whom  his 
father  has  sacrificed  for  her  sake,  she  is  seized  with 
sudden  remorse,  and  bursts  into  a  paroxysm  of  fury. 
She  throws  herself  in  despair  on  to  the  body  of  Hip- 
polytus, tearing  her  hair  in  her  grief,  acquaints 
Theseus  with  all  the  enormity  of  her  fault,  and  with 
her  perfidy ;  and  as,  in  her  judgment,  death  alone  is 
a  fit  punishment  for  her  misdeeds,  she  kills  herself, 
with  her  own  hand,  stabbing  herself  with  the  dagger 
she  holds,  and  presenting  it  to  her  consort. 

Euripides  in  his  Hippolytus  makes  Phaedra  the 
victim  of  celestial  vengeance,  and,  as  such,  worthy, 
in  a  sense,  of  pity.  This  is  augmented  when  Phae- 
dra, seeing  the  furious  rage  of    Hippolytus,  at  the 

*Ph^dra:  "Ah!  je  vois  Hippolyte, 

Dans  ses  yeux  insolents  je  vois  ma  perte  ecrite. 
Fais  ce  que  tu  voudras,  je  m'abandonne  a  toi ; 
Dans  le  trouble  ou  je  suis,  je  ne  puis  rien  pour 
moi.  Racine. 

IS 


226  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

indecent  passion  felt  for  him  by  his  stepmother,*  and 
revealed  to  him  by  the  slave  CEnone,  overwhelmed 
by  shame,  enraged  at  the  knowledge  that  Hippolytus 
knew  of  her  love  for  him,  and  desirous  to  save  her- 
self from  ignominy,  decides  to  die,  and  accomplishes 
her  fatal  purpose  by  strangling  herself  with  a  rope. 
This  climax  would  diminish  the  enormity  of  her 
guilt,  and  render  Phaedra  an  object  of  compassion, 
were  it  not  for  the  words  Euripides  makes  Diana  use 
to  Theseus,  after  the  terrible  death  of  Hippolytus, 
and  from  these  it  is  evident  that  Phaedra,  before 
taking  her  own  life,  had  conceived  the  wicked  design 
of  preparing  a  written  document  in  which  she  ac- 
cuses Hippolytus  of  having  driven  her  to  desperation, 
and  caused  her  to  do  this  dreadful  deed  in  order  to 
avoid  being  dishonored  by  him.  This  base  and 
ignoble  calumny  causes  her  to  become  at  once  an 
object  of  scorn  and  loathing,  and  changes  the  pity 
that  would  otherwise  have  been  felt  for  her  into  dis- 
gust and  horror. 

These  are  the  lines  which  Euripides  makes  Diana 
address  to  Theseus — 

.  .  .  TL  ToAas  TotcrSc  crrvi^8et,f 
TratS   ov;^  ocrttos  (tov  dTroKTCtVas, 
{j/tv8i<n  iMvdoLs  aX6)(ov  Tretcr^ds 
a.<fiav^  ;   <jiav€pa  8'  elXev  cr  dra 

*  *  *  *  » 

*  According  to  mythology',  Hippolytus  was  a  son  of  Theseus, 
husband  of  Phaedra,  by  the  Amazon  Hippolyte. —  Translator. 

t  See  the  Hippolytus  of  Euripides,  lines  12S6-1289  and 
1310-1312.     An  approximate   English  translation  runs  as  fol- 


PHAEDRA.  227 

17  S'  €is  cXey;)(ov  /u,^  Tre'crj;  (f)o(3ovfi€ur]f 
^etiSets  ypacf>a<;  eypaipe  Kol  BuLXeae 
SoXoLcri.  crov  TratS ,  dAA'  o/aws  cTreitre  (re. 

Racine  depicts  the  end  of  this  Queen  in  more 
noble  fashion.  Oppressed  by  the  shame  of  having 
revealed  her  improper  passion  to  Hippolytus,  crushed 
by  his  scorn,  and  the  horror  with  which  he  received 
her  avowal,  quailing  beneath  the  scrutinizing  glance 
of  Theseus,  feeling  herself  guilty,  and  driven  wild 
with  jealousy  at  discovering  in  Aricia  her  more  fortu- 
nate rival,  dreading  the  wrath  of  her  father  Minos 
when  she  should  descend  into  Avernus,  assailed  by 
remorse  for  having,  when  almost  beside  herself,  con- 
sented to  the  perfidious  insinuation  of  CEnone  by 
accusing  Hippolytus  of  her  fault — Phaedra  swallows 
one  of  the  most  potent  poisons.  And  thus,  already 
bathed  with  the  dews  of  death,  she  drags  herself 
before  Theseus,  summons  all  her  little  remaining 
strength  to  her  aid,  and  proclaims  the  innocence  of 
Hippolytus,  her  own  fatal  passion  which  she  had  im- 
puted to  him,  and  the  perfidious  consent  she  had 
given  to  CEnone's  proposal  to  accuse  Hippolytus  in 
her  stead.  She  asserts  that  she  would  have  preferred 
to  end  her  life  by  the  dagger,  but  that  at  any  cost 
she  must  first  confess  her  crime,  and  her  remorse, 


lows : — "  Because  by  an  iniquitous  death  thou  hast  killed  thy 
son,  O  wretched  man,  art  thou  therefore  pleased  ?  A  false  and 
vaguely  worded  paper  written  by  thy  consort  hath  led  thee  to 
consent  to  this  evil  deed  .  .  .  but  thy  wife,  terrified  she  would 
be  convinced  of  his  fault,  wrote  lying  words,  and  by  her  trickery 
persuaded  thee,  and  led  thy  son  to  his  death." 


228 


ADELAIDE  R IS  TORI. 


and  therefore  she  has  selected  a  slow  poison.  She 
dies  a  lingering  and  agonizing  death,  unaware  of  the 
miserable  end  of  Hippolytus. 

That  Phaedra  was  unaware  of  it  is  proved  by  the 
following  lines  ;  Panope,  in  Scene  v.,  Act  5,  comes 
breathless,  to  Theseus,  saying — 

Panope  :   "  I  am  ignorant  what  project  the  Queen  meditates, 

My  lord,  but  I  fear  everything  from  the  transport 

which  agitates  her. 
A  mortal  despair  is  paint  on  her  countenance : 
Her  complexion  has  already  the  pallor  of  death. 
Already  driven  with  ignominy  from  her  presence, 
CEnone  has  cast  herself  into  the  deep  sea — 
Men  know  not  what  has  driven  her  to  this  desperate 

act — 
And  the  waters,  closing  over  her,  have  hidden  her 
for  ever  from  our  eyes." 
Theseus:  "What  do  I  hear?" 
Panope  :   "  Her  death  has  not  calmed  the  Queen ; 

Trouble  seems  to  be  growing  in  her  uncertain  soul. 

Sometimes,  to  flatter  her  secret  sorrow, 

She  takes   her  children,  and  bathes  them  in  her 

tears ; 
Then,  suddenly,  renouncing  all  maternal  love. 
Her  hand,  with  horror,  pushes  them  away  from  her. 
With  uncertain  steps  she  drags  herself  irresolutely, 

here  and  there. 
Her  wandering  eyes  recognize  us  no  longer ; 
Three  times   she   has   commenced  to  write,   and 

changed  her  mind. 
Three  times  she  has  destroyed  her  hardly  begun 

letter. 
Deign  to  see  her,  my  Lord,  deign  to  succor  her."  * 


*  Panope  :"  J'ignore  le  projet  que  la  reine  medite. 

Seigneur ;   mais  je  crains   tout   du   transport  qui 
I'agite 


PHAEDRA.  229 

At  the  close  of  this  scene  Theramenes  presents  her- 
self, and  narrates,  amidst  her  tears,  the  tragic  end  of 
Hippolytus,  which  happened  near  Mycenae,  where 
his  lacerated  body  was  left.  Nothing  was  known  of 
this  terrible  accident  in  the  royal  palace,  therefore  it 
is  evident  Phaedra  did  not  kill  herself  in  despair  at 
Hippolytus'  death,  but  for  the  reason  already  stated. 
Perhaps  some  people  may  consider  as  superfluous 
this  minute  comparison  of  the  tragedies  of  Seneca, 
Euripides,  and  Racine,  this  analysis  of  the  various 
ways  in  which  they  severally  treat  the  personality  of 
Phaedra — this  detailed  narration  of  incidents  in 
Phaedra's  life,  as  though  its  vicissitudes  had  been 
hitherto  unknown.  But  in  the  hope  that  my  studies 
may  contain  some  interest  for  readers  who  have  seen 
me  on  the  stage,  as  well  as  for  those  who  have  not 

Un  mortel  desespoir  sur  son  visage  est  peint ; 

La  paleur  de  la  mort  est  deja  sur  son  teint. 

Deja  de  sa  presence  avec  honte  chassee 

Dans  la  profonde  mer  CEnone  s'est  lancee 

On  ne  sait  point  d'oU  part  ce  dessein  furieux; 

Et  les  flots  pour  jamais  I'ont  ravie  a  nos  yeux." 
Theseus:  '  Qu'entends-je ? " 
Panope  :     "  Son  trepas  n'a  point  calme  la  reine  ; 

Le  trouble  semble  croitre  en  son  ame  incertaine. 

Quelque  fois,  pour  flatter  ses  secretes  douleurs, 

EUe  prend  ses  enfants  et  les  baigne  de  pleures; 

Et  soudain,  renon9ant  k  I'amour  maternelle, 

Sa  main  avec  horreur  les  repousse  loin  d'elle; 

Elle  porte  en  hasard  ses  pas  irresolus  ; 

Son  ceil  tout  egare  ne  nous  reconnait  plus. 

Elle  a  trois  fois  ecrit,  et,  changeant  de  pensee, 

Trois  fois  elle  a  rompu  sa  lettre  commence'e. 

Daignez  la  voir,  seigneur ;  daignez  la  secourir." 


230 


ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 


had  the  opportunity,  I  have  thought  it  might  be  use- 
ful to  give  these  important  details,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  might  not  entirely  remember  them,  in 
order  that  I  might  awaken  within  them  a  desire  to 
know  how  I  had  elaborated  my  interpretation  of  the 
part — a  matter  of  which  the  reader  who  has  the 
patience  to  peruse  the  following  pages,  will  be  able 
to  judge. 

After  the  account  I  have  given  of  the  immense 
difficulty  I  encountered  in  my  study  of  the  person- 
ality of  Myrrha,  by  Vittoria  Alfieri,  it  would  be 
natural  to  suppose  that  I  should  find  that  of  Phaedra 
all  the  easier.  And  this  is  partly  true,  because  the 
contrasts  in  the  latter  are  less  strange  and  difficult, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
the  interpretations  of  these  two  characters  have  not 
a  great  deal  in  common,  although  they  were  both 
victims  of  the  revenge  of  Venus. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  Venus  did  not  hate 
Phaedra,  but  Hippolytus,  and,  in  causing  Phaedra 
to  conceive  a  powerful  and  incestuous  passion,  she 
selected  her  as  the  only  means  that  was  available  to 
avenge  herself  on  Hippolytus,  because 

"  he  had  called  her  the  worst  of  the  goddesses,  because  he 
was  backward  to  the  laws  of  love,  and  because  all  his  worship 
was  given  to  Diana,  daughter  of  Jove,  whom  alone  he  adored, 
proclaiming  her  '  the  greatest  of  the  gods.'  " 

These  words  Euripides  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Venus 
in  the  first  scene  of  his  tragedy.  Myrrha,  likewise, 
was  the  instrument  of  Venus'  vengeance  on  her 
mother,  Cecris,  who  had  imprudently 

"  ventured  to  boast  that  she  had  a  daughter,  whose  extraor- 


PHAEDRA.  231 

dinary  beauty,  grace,  modesty,  and  wisdom  attracted  more 
people  in  Greece  and  the  East  than  had  ever  in  former  times 
been  drawn  to  the  sacred  worship  of  Venus." 

The  effect  of  such  malediction  launched  against  two 
such  different  natures  would  of  course  be  entirely 
distinct.  The  one,  a  modest,  chaste  maiden,  driven 
by  a  strange,  mysterious  influence  to  conceive  an  ex- 
ecrable passion,  overwhelmed  with  horror  at  her  own 
guilt,  sought  death  in  order  to  save  herself  from  dis- 
honor. The  other,  perfectly  aware  of  the  lengths  to 
which  her  reprehensible  feeling  would  carry  her,  gave 
way  to  it  without  the  slightest  effort  at  self-control, 
and  put  an  end  to  her  existence  simply  because  she 
dreaded  the  revelation  of  a  love  which  was  not  re- 
turned. 

Myrrha  died  because  her  weak  and  youthful  nature 
did  not  possess  strength  enough  to  enable  her  to 
dominate  her  ardent  passion,  of  the  discovery  of 
which  by  its  object  she  lived  in  daily  dread,  and  she 
killed  herself  when,  by  an  overpowering  influence, 
the  confession  of  her  secret  was  wrung  from  her  lips. 

But  Phaedra,  fascinated  and  bewitched  by  the 
beauty  of  Hippolytus,  recognized  no  obstacles  to  the 
accomplishment  of  her  desires  ;  with  her  own  lips, 
and  by  her  own  free  will,  in  passionate  accents,  and 
with  burning  looks,  she  revealed  to  the  object  of  her 
love  the  flame  that  consumed  her  ;  and  it  was  the 
knowledge  that  another  woman  was  preferred  to  her 
that  hastened  her  end,  not  any  remorse  for  having 
wrongfully  accused  Hippolytus  of  her  fault,  and  for 
leaving  him  to  become  the  victim  of  his  father's  rage. 

Having  thus  explained  on  what  lines  I  conducted 
my  psychological  study  of  these  two  distinct  person- 


232  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

alities,  who  were  under  the  power  of  an  equally  abnor- 
mal passion,  and  had  therefore  so  many  points  in 
common,  I  will  now  proceed  to  explain  more  espe- 
cially how  I  interpreted,  studied,  and  represented  the 
personality  of  Phaedra. 

Racine  precedes  the  entrance  of  Phaedra  in  the 
first  Act  by  some  lines  spoken  by  the  nurse  (Enone, 
which  picture  the  Queen  in  an  almost  dying  state, 
and  only  anxious  once  more  to  behold  the  light  of 
day.  I  think  it  necessary  to  quote  them,  in  order 
that  the  reader  may  form  a  better  idea  of  how  I 
should  be  likely  to  appear  on  the  stage. 

CEnone  :  "  Alas  !  my  lord !  what  trouble  can  be  equal  unto  mine  "i 
The  Queen  doth  fast  approach  her  fatal  end ; 
'Tis  vain  that  night  or  day  I  leave  her  not, 
She  dies  in  my  arms  of  a  malady  she  hides  from  me. 
Some  evil  influence  disturbs  her  mind  ; 
Her  grief  distracts  and  tears  her  in  her  bed. 
She  longs  to  see  the  day,  and  her  profound  sorrow 
Orders  me  to  keep  every  one  away  from  her."  * 

And  in  fact  Phaedra  enters,  pale  and  prostrate,  hardly 
able  to  stand,  and  supported  by  her  maidens,  while 
she  scarcely  retains  strength  enough  to  articulate. 
It  was  my  careful  study  to  find  the  exact  tone  of 

*  CEnone:  "Helasl  seigneur!  quel  trouble  au  mien  pent  etre 

egal  ? 
La  Reine  touche  presque  a  son  terme  fatal. 
En  vain  a  I'observer  jour  et  nuit  je  m'attache 
Elle  meurt  dans  mes   bras  d'un   mal  qu'elle  me 

cache ; 
Un  desordre  eternal  rfegne  dans  son  esprit; 
Son  chagrin  inquiet  I'arrache  de  son  lit ; 
Elle  veut  voir  le  jour,  et  sa  douleur  profonde 
M'ordonne  toutefois  d'ecarter  tout  le  monde." 


PHAEDRA.  233 

voice  in  which  a  person  in  Phaedra's  condition  would 
be  likely  to  speak,  a  tone  which  would  convey  that 
her  state  of  exhaustion  was  due  to  moral,  not  physi- 
cal causes,  and  which  could  therefore  be  at  once 
changed  to  a  more  joyous  key  should  any  unexpected 
or  pleasant  event  occur. 

Thus  I  repeated  all  passages  expressive  of  weari- 
ness and  discomfort,  in  recitative  fashion,  using  a 
kind  of  doleful  monotone.  But  when  the  strain  of 
profound  melancholy  was  interrupted  by  any  extrane- 
ous suggestion  that  roused  my  feelings,  my. voice  grew 
stronger,  and  more  impulsive,  as  it  were  in  spite  of 
myself,  for  a  moment,  then  sank  suddenly  down  again 
within  my  chest,  for  lack  of  bodily  vigor  to  maintain 
its  pitch. 

For  example,  Qinone  reproaches  Phaedra  on  ac- 
count of  her  self-abandonment  to  a  grief  which  is 
destroying  her,  for  concealing  it  from  every  one,  and 
such  conduct,  bringing  misfortune  upon  her  children, 
constrained,  as  they  will  be,  to  submit  to  a  foreign 
yoke,  that  of  the  son  of  an  Amazon,  and  she  expresses 
herself  thus : — 

CEnone  :  "  You  offend  the  gods,  the  authors  of  your  life ; 

You  betray  the  husband  to  whom  you  plighted  your 

troth. 
And  you  betray,  too,  your  miserable  children, 
Whom  you  precipitate  into  a  miserable  bondage. 
Think  that  the  same  day  that  takes  from  them  their 

mother, 
Will  give  hope  to  the  son  of  the  stranger. 
To  that  fierce  enemy  of  you  and  yours, 
That  child  which  an  Amazon  has  carried  in  her 

bosom, 
That  Hippolyte. 


234  ADELAIDE  RISTORI, 

Ph-CDRA:  Oh,  Heavens! 
CEnone  :     This  reproach  touches  you  I 

Ph.edra  :  Wretched  woman  I    what  name  has  escaped  your 
lips  I "  * 

This  dialogue  is  an  exact  imitation  of  Euripides. 
During  the  utterance  of  these  lines  I  remained,  at 
first,  as  though  I  were  insensible,  and  I  paid  little 
heed  to  the  reproaches  of  CEnone  until  she  began  to 
speak  of  the  children.     But  when  she  said  to  me  : 

"  You  will  give  hope  to  the  son  of  the  stranger," 
my  body  shuddered,  and  during  the  two  succeeding 
lines — 

"  To  that  fierce  enemy  of  you  and  youis ; 
That  child  which  an  Amazon  has  carried  in  her  bosom." 

my  prostration  ceased,  my  brow  darkened,  my  whole 
person  trembled,  I  gasped  for  breath.  But  when  I 
heard  the  words, 

"  That  Hippolyte  !  " 
the  repetition  of  the  fatal  name  drew  a  sudden  cry  of 
pain  from  my  agonized  heart ; 

"  Miserable  woman  !  what  name  has  escaped  your  lips  I  " 

*  QEnone  :  "  Vous  offensez  les  dieux,  auteurs  de  votre  vie ; 
Vous  trahissez  I'epoux  a  qui  la  foi  vous  lie  ; 
Vous  trahissez,  enfin,  vos  enfants  malheureux, 
Que  vous  precipitez  sous  un  joug  rigoureux. 
Songez  qu'un  meme  jour  leur  ravira  leur  mere, 
Et  rendra  esperance  au  fils  de  I'etrangere, 
A  ce  fier  ennemi  de  vous,  de  votre  sang, 
Ce  fils  qu'une  Amazone  a  porte  dans  son  flanc, 
Cet  Hippolyte. 
Ph^DRA  :  Ah  Dieux  1 
CEnone  :  Ce  reproache  vous  touche  \ 
Ph^dra  :  Malheureuse  1  quel  nom  est  sorti  de  ta  bouche  I  " 


PHAEDRA.  235 

I  cried  in  my  agony,  and  I  fell  back  upon  my  chair. 
At  last,  in  answer  to  the  renewed  entreaties  of 
CEnone  that  I  would  reveal  the  cause  of  my  anguish, 
I  resolved  to  speak,  but  my  voice  came  with  difficulty, 
and  it  only  gained  strength  again  when  I  began  to 
deplore,  in  a  plaintive  tone,  the  fate  of  the  mother 
and  sister  who  were  also  victims  to  the  hatred  of  the 
implacable  goddess,  and  to  the  question  asked  in  the 
greatest  anxiety  by  CEnone — 

"Do  you  love?"* 

I  replied  in  a  hopeless  tone,  like  a  wild  beast  who 
has  received  its  death-wound, 

"  I  am  suffering  all  the  pangs  of  love  !  "  t 

My  impetuosity  reached  its  culminating  point  when, 
after  CEnone  had  exclaimed, 

"  Hippolyte  !  great  Heaven  !  "  t 

I  answered  with  quick  resentment — 

"  It  is  you  who  have  named  him  !  "  § 

and,  making  a  long  pause,  I  remained  standing  in  a 
scornful  attitude.  But  when  the  paroxysm  was  over 
my  recovered  energies  once  more  abandoned  me,  and 
I  fell  back  again  on  my  chair. 

After  a  glance  round  to  assure  myself  that  no  one 
was  listening,  I  began  to  narrate  the  origin  of  my 
fatal  love,  and  the  pretexts  that  had  been  invented  to 

*  "  Aimez-vous  ? " 

t  "De  I'amour  j'ai  toutes  les  fureurs." 

J  "  Hippolyte  !  grand  dieux  !  " 

§  "  C'est  toi  qui  I'a  nomme  1 " 


236  ADELAIDE   KISTORI. 

separate  Hippolytus  from  me,  and  I  commenced 
speaking  in  a  faint,  hoarse  voice,  in  order  to  show 
the  state  of  prostration  to  which  the  preceding  men- 
tal struggle  had  reduced  me.  But  as  I  continued  my 
narrative,  by  degrees  I  grew  more  animated,  and  when 
I  began  to  express  the  ineffable  delight  which  the 
remembrance  of  the  dear  countenance  of  Hippolytus 
brought  to  my  heart,  my  own  face  was  irradiated. 

"In  vain  upon  the  altars  my  hand  burnt  the  incense ; 
When  my  mouth  uttered  the  name  of  the  goddess, 
I  adored  Hippolytus.     I  beheld  him  everywhere, 
Even  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  where  I  offered  sacrifice, 
I  offered  all  to  the  divinity  I  dare  not  name."* 

The  appearance  of  my  attendant,  Panope,  recalled 
me  to  myself.  I  resumed  my  wonted  dignity,  gath- 
ered together  my  wandering  fancies,  but  at  the  an- 
nouncement she  made  to  me  of  the  death  of  Theseus, 
my  whole  appearance  underwent  a  sudden  change, 
expressive  of  a  mixture  of  amazement,  surprise,  and 
ill-concealed  joy  at  finding  how  unexpectedly  the  ob- 
stacle which  interposed  to  prevent  the  completion  of 
my  desires,  had  been  removed.  I  controlled  myself 
with  an  effort,  hiding  my  thought  even  from  the  faith- 
ful CEnone.  Then,  when  Panope  had  gone  away,  I 
listened  to  the  flattering  words  of  the  nurse  with  the 
complacency  of  one  who  staggers  beneath  the  weight 


"  En  vain  sur  les  autels  ma  main  brulait  I'incens; 
Quand  ma  bouche  implorait  le  nom  de  la  deesse, 
J'adorais  Hippolyte,  et  la  voyant  sans  cesse, 
Meme  au  pied  des  autels  que  je  faisais  fumer, 
J'offrais  tout  k  ce  dieu  que  je  n'osais  nommer." 


PHAEDRA.  237 

of  some  unexpected  happiness,  which  he  dare  not 
allow  himself  to  believe  in,  lest  it  should  vanish  like 
a  beautiful  dream.  While  CEnone  continued  her  dis- 
course, endeavoring  to  persuade  me  that  now  I  might 
see'  Hippolytus  without  fear,  and  that  my  passion 
had  nothing  singular  about  it  since  the  obstacle  had 
been  removed  that  made  it  culpable,  I  turned  my 
person  in  such  a  way  that  she  could  not  perceive  my 
face,  which  I  had  prudence  enough  still  further  to 
hide  from  view  with  the  rich  and  ample  veil  that  en- 
veloped me  from  head  to  foot.  Thus  I  was  able,  by 
means  of  a  by-play  in  accordance  with  the  feelings 
that  agitated  me,  to  express  to  the  public  how  the 
words  of  the  faithful  nurse  acted  like  a  healing  balm 
on  my  lacerated  heart,  and  brought  me  back  once 
more  to  life  and  love.  Then,  dissimulating  the  real 
reason  of  my  change,  I  allowed  it  to  be  guessed  that 
consideration  and  affection  for  my  son  was  the  sole 
motive  that  decided  me  to  cling  to  life,  and  causing 
CEnone  to  precede  me,  I  leant  my  right  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  quitted  the  stage  with  slow  steps,  as 
though  my  limbs  had  not  yet  re-acquired  their  pristine 
vigor. 

The  renowned  La  Harpe  holds  that  Phaedra  did 
really  determine  to  live  for  the  sake  of  her  son,  but 
such  is  not  my  opinion,  and  the  words  used  by  her 
in  her  confession  of  her  love  for  Hippolytus  confirm 
my  idea,  and  I  will  further  prove  it  by  arguments 
which  must,  it  seems  to  me,  be  admitted  just. 

During  the  second  Act,  in  the  admirable  scene*  of 

*  This  scene  is  a  copy  of  that  in  the  second  Act  of  Seneca's 
tragedy  of  Hippolytus,  adapted  by  Racine  with  inimitable  art, 
and  the  greatest  effect. 


238  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

the  interview  between  Phaedra  and  Hippolytus,  I 
make  my  appearance  with  uncertain  steps,  urged  and 
encouraged  by  the  nurse,  CEnone,  to  recommend 
my  child  to  his  care,  but  I  consider  that  this  was 
simply  a  pretext  to  discover  the  feelings  of  Hippoly- 
tus. Had  it  been  otherwise,  Phaedra  fearing,  as  she 
feared,  the  irresistible  ascendency  the  man  she  loved 
possessed  over  her,  and  feeling  the  fascination  he  ex- 
ercised upon  her  senses,  would  have  avoided  every 
occasion  of  meeting,  lest  she  should  betray  and  lower 
herself.  I  was  so  convinced  of  this,  that  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  scene  my  words  came  slowly  and  with 
difficulty  from  my  lips,  as  I  said — 

"  I  come  to  unite  my  tears  to  your  sorrow, 
I  come  to  you,  as  to  a  son,  to  explain  my  trouble."* 

The  Italian  translator  of  Racine's  play  has  rendered 
these  lines  as  follows  : — 

"  De'  miei  propri  affanni, 
Vorrei  parlarti  .  .  e  .  .  di  mio  figlio." 

and  the  punctuation  indicates,  what  the  disjointed 
character  of  the  words  proves,  that^  Francesco  dall* 
Ongaro  wasof  my  opinion  ;  and  his  conclusion  is  con- 
firmed by  the  manner  in  which  both  the  author  and  the 
Italian  translator  return  to  the  subject  in  the  succeed- 
ing passage,  which  in  English  runs  thus  : — 

"  If  you  should  hate  me,  I  should  not  complain  of  it. 
My  lord  ;  you  have  seen  me  strive  to  hurt  you ; 
But  you  could  not  read  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart ; 

**' A  vos  douleurs  je  viens  joindre  mes  larmes*, 
Je  vous  viens  pour  un  fils,  expliquer  mes  larmes." 


PHAEDRA.  239 

I  have  sought  to  offer  myself  to  your  enmity, 

I  would  not  suffer  you  to  approach  the  shores  which  I  inhabit; 

In  public  and  in  private  I  have  declared  against  you, 

And  desired  that  seas  should  roll  between  us. 

I  have  even  decreed  by  an  express  law 

That  no  one  should  dare  to  pronounce  your  name  before  me. 

If,  however,  by  the  offence  is  measured  the  pain, 

If  hate  alone  can  attract  your  hate. 

Then,  never  was  woman  more  worthy  of  pity, 

And  less  worthy,  my  lord,  of  your  enmity." 

We  give  the  Italian  translation  referred  to  above, 
and  the  French  original,  in  a  note.* 

*PHiEDRA:  "N^  che  tu  m'  odii  gia  t'  accusal     Avversa 
Sempre  a  te  mi  vedesti,  e  in  cor,  signore, 
Leggermi  in  cor  tu  non  potevi.     lo  stessa 
Esca  all'  odio  porgea,  che  non  soffersi 
Viver  con  te  suUa  medesima  terra. 
Nemica  tua,  non  che  segreta,  aperta, 
Volli  che  il  mar  ci  separasse :  imposi 
Che  niuno  osasse  innanzi  a  me  nomarti ; 
Grave  torto,  lo  so ;  ma  se  la  pena 
Dee  1'  offesa  uguagliar,  se  1'  odio  solo 
Grida  vendetta,  non  vi  fa  giammai 
Donna  piu  degna  della  tua  pietade 
E  men  degna,  signor,  dell'  odio  tuo  I  " 

In  the  French  the  passage  runs  as  follows : — 

"  Quand  vous  me  hairiez,  je  ne  m'en  plaindrais  pas, 
Seigneur  ;  vous  m'avez  vue  attachee  a  vous  nuire. 
Dans  le  fond  de  mon  coeur  vous  ne  pouviez  pas  lire; 
A  votre  inimitie  j'ai  pris  soin  de  n'offrir; 
Aux  bords  que  j'habitais  je  n'ai  pu  vous  souffrir; 
En  public,  en  secret  contre  vous  declaree, 
J'ai  voulu  par  des  mers  en  etre  separee ; 
J'ai  meme  defendu  par  une  expresse  loi 
Qu'on  osat  prononcer  votre  nom  devant  moi. 


240  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

These  last  lines  are  not  at  all  such  as  would  be 
likely  to  be  spoken  by  a  woman  anxious  to  conceal 
her  real  sentiments;  they  are  rather  the  utterance  of 
one  who  wraps  up  in  a  circumlocution  of  words  and 
phrases,  with  a  double  meaning,  an  idea  whose  true 
significance  she  desires  to  make  understood.  Con- 
vinced for  all  these  reasons  of  the  justice  of  my 
interpretation,  I  decided  to  speak  the  passage  in  a 
manner  which  should  convey  unmistakably  the  double 
entendre  I  felt  it  contained  ;  and  I  accompanied  these 
words  with  lightning  glances,  which,  taken  in  con- 
junction with  the  tone  of  my  voice,  showed  the  effort 
I  was  putting  on  myself  to  restrain  the  passion  which 
was  devouring  me,  and  which  I  could  hardly  refrain 
from  manifesting  openly.  Later  on,  I  showed  the 
audience  by  my  gestures  how  deeply  wounded  I  was 
that  Hippolytus  had  not  understood  me,  and  when 
the  latter,  believing  in  Phaedra's  repentance  for  the 
hatred  which  she  had  borne  to  him,  sought 'to  excuse 
her  conduct  by  saying  that  every  other  mother  would 
have  behaved  in  like  manner  to  a  step-son,  whose 
love  for  her  own  children  made  her  jealous,  I,  feeling 
that  the  passionate  restraint  I  had  laid  upon  myself 
was  beginning  to  affect  him,  attempted  once  more  to 
make  him  understand  me,  by  saying  in  a  slightly 
impatient  tone — 


Si  pourtant  a  I'offense  on  mesure  la  peine, 
Si  la  haine  put  seule  attirer  la  haine, 
Jamais  femme  ne  fut  plus  digne  de  pitie 
Et  moins  digne,  seigneur,  de  votre  inimitie." 

Racine. 


PHAEDRA.  241 

"Ah!  my  lord,  I  dare  to  protest  that  Heaven  has  exempted 
me  from  this  common  law. 
It  is  a  very  different  care  which  troubles  and  preys  upon 
me."* 

But,  as  gradually  the  scene  progressed,  I  was  no 
longer  able  to  control  the  passion  that  possessed  me. 
The  revelation  of  it  burst  from  me  suddenly,  as  a 
stream  that  has  been  dammed  up  overflows  its  banks. 
Voice,  gestures,  and  accent,  all  united  to  express  the 
idea  that  I  was  in  the  condition  of  one  inebriated 
with  love,  of  one  who  cares  for  neither  modesty, 
sobriety,  or  dignity,  provided  only  she  can  enjoy  the 
forbidden  and  gujlty  delight  she  so  ardently  desires. 

And  Hippolytus  scorned.  Suddenly  my  eyes  were 
opened,  and  with  a  shudder  that  convulsed  my  whole 
person,  I  recognized  in  his  conduct  the  influence  of 
the  terrible  Eumenides.  With  the  speed  of  lightning 
I  seized  the  sword  he  had  dropped,  after  drawing  it 
in  his  first  irresistible  impulse  to  slay  me,  and  turned 
it  against  my  own  breast.  At  this  moment,  CEnone, 
who  had  been  listening  unseen,  rushed  forward,  threw 
herself  upon  me,  seized  my  arm,  though  she  did  not 
succeed  in  wrenching  the  weapon  from  my  grasp, 
and  by  main  force  dragged  me  from  the  stage.  This 
most  perilous  scene  with  Hippolytus  has  great  diffi- 
culty for  an  actress,  because  if  she  overpasses  by  a 
hairbreadth  the  line  laid  down  by  scenic  propriety,  the 


*  "  Ah  !  seigneur !  que  le  ciel,  j'ose  ici  I'attester, 
De  cette  loi  commune  a  voulu  m'exempter! 
Qu'un  soin  bien  different  me  trouble  et  me  devore." 

Racine. 
16 


242  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

audience  would  find  the  situation  repulsive,  and  the 
effect  would  be  greatly  injured. 

The  first  scene  of  the  third  Act,  between  Phaedra 
and  CEnone,  consists  only  of  an  alternation  and  suc- 
cession of  reproaches,  remorse,  hopes,  fears,  rage, 
illusions,  and  contrary  plans. 

How  Hippolytus  has  grown  odious  in  her  eyes 
because  of  the  humiliation  he  has  inflicted  on  her ! 
How  she  excuses  him,  and  blames  herself  for  having 
judged  with  too  great  severity  the  inexperienced 
youth,  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  love  !  In  this  perplex- 
ity she  devises  a  means  to  retain  his  heart,  which 
speedily  absorbs  all  her  thought,  and  she  makes  her 
faithful  CEnone  her  messenger.  But  when  she  hears 
from  her  devoted  and  terrified  nurse  that  Theseus  is 
still  alive,  that  he  will  shortly  stand  before  her,  I 
assumed,  with  a  rapid  transition,  the  attitude  of  one 
who  is  almost  petrified  by  the  sudden  and  amazing 
news  she  has  received.  In  a  voice  so  indistinct  that 
it  is  little  more  than  a  murmur,  I  say — 

"  My  husband  is  living,  O  QLnone  !  that  is  enough. 
I  have  made  the  unworthy  confession  of  a  love  that 

outrages  him. 
He  lives,  and  I  wish  to  know  no  more."* 

and  I  repeat  the  words  "  that  is  enough,"  in  a  tone 
implying  "  all  is  over  for  me." 

From  this  moment  the  idea  of  seeing  myself  con- 
fronted by  my  outraged  consort,  of  not  daring  to 

*"Mon  epoux  est  vivant.     O  CEnone,  c'est  assez. 
J'ai  fait  I'indigne  aveu  d  un  amour  qui  I'outrage. 
II  vit,  je  ne  veux  pas  en  savoir  d'avantage." 


PHAEDRA.  243 

meet  his  look  for  very  shame,  began  to  fill  me  with 
a  terror  that  overmastered  me.  I  grew  delirious, 
everything  about  me  seemed  "to  gain  voice  and 
words,"  in  order  to  apprise  Theseus  of  my  fault. 

By  this  manifestation  of  total  physical  weakness 
and  mental  aberration,  I  sought  to  account  in  some 
measure  for  the  ready  consent  which  Phaedra  gives 
to  CEnone's  infernal  proposal,  and  I  succeeded  in 
showing  how  oppressed  I  was  with  an  immeasurable 
dread  of  the  appearance  of  Theseus  and  Hippolytus. 
Those  better  impulses  which  had  caused  me  instinc- 
tively to  reject  Qi^none's  infamous  proposal  when  it 
was  first  made,  had  now  deserted  me.  In  the  utter 
impossibility  of  avoiding  a  meeting  with  my  husband, 
I  addressed  to  him  the  few  lines  which  tell  of  my 
profound  grief,  my  bitter  remorse,  as  well  as  the 
shame  I  felt  at  appearing  before  my  outraged  con- 
sort, and  the  man  who  was  the  fatal  cause  of  my 
trouble. 

Full  of  confusion,  and  feeling  that  I  had  not 
strength  to  utter  another  word,  I  fled  precipitately. 

Most  masterly  is  the  fourth  Act  of  this  tragedy,  in 
which  the  transcendent  genius  of  Racine  is  fully 
revealed.  He  has  most  certainly  not  been  influenced 
either  by  Euripides  or  Seneca,  in  the  arrangement  of 
this  part  of  the  classic  work.  It  is  rather  modelled 
on  Shakespeare,  and  shows  all  the  devious  workings 
of  a  human  soul,  and  the  causes  and  effects  which 
have  produced  its  disorganization. 

When  Phaedra,  repentant,  and  tormented  by  re- 
morse, comes  trembling  to  Theseus  to  implore  clem- 
ency for  his  son,  and  perhaps  also  to  reveal  the  falsity 


244  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

of  the  accusation  made  against  him,  it  might  be 
plainly  seen  from  my  face,  and  from  the  way  I  spoke, 
what  an  effort  and  struggle  it  had  been  to  me  to 
decide  on  this  step. 

I  uttered  my  first  words  after  I  came  upon  the 
stage  in  a  supplicating  tone,  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ground,  because  I  had  not  the  courage  to  meet 
the  anger  of  my  husband  when  he  heard  the  truth. 

On  learning  from  Theseus  that  Hippolytus  "dared 
to  insult  the  character  of  Phaedra  by  accusing  her  of 
lying,"  I  bent  down  my  head  towards  the  ground,  as 
though  humiliated,  and  confused,  and  desirous  to 
conceal  my  shame  in  the  depths  of  the  earth. 

But  when  I  further  heard  that  "  Aricia  only  was  the 
woman  Hippolytus  openly  confessed  he  loved,  who 
only  possessed  his  heart  and  his  troth,"  the  power  of 
art  worked  such  a  complete  transformation  in  my 
appearance  that  the  spectator  was  overpowered  by  it. 

I  heard  no  more  what  Theseus  said,  I  remained 
insensible  to  everything  he  preferred  against  his  son, 
I  understood  only  the  tremendous  revelation  he  had 
made  to  me. 

Left  alone,  I  gave  vent,  little  by  little,  to  the  fury 
I  had  restrained  until  that  moment.  My  whole 
being  was  penetrated  by  the  dreadful  truth,  which  in 
an  instant  had  struck  death  to  my  heart.  Then, 
slowly,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  bitter  scorn,  and  a  voice 
growing  in  power  as  I  proceeded,  I  uttered  the  stu- 
pendous lines  in  which  are  revealed,  one  by  one,  all 
the  torments  of  a  wonderful  spirit : — 

"  Hippolytus  can  feel,  and  3'et  feels  nothing  for  me ! 
Aricia  has  his  heart,  Aricia  has  his  faith ! 


PHAEDRA. 


245 


Ah  I  Heavens  1  when  the  inexorable  ingrate 

Armed  himself  against  my  wishes,  with  such  a  proud 

eye,  and  haughty  countenance, 
I  thought  his  heart  was  for  ever  steeled  against  love, 
Was  equally  adamant  to  all  my  sex. 
And  yet,  another  has  conquered  his  audacity, 
In  his  cruel  eyes  another  has  found  favor."  * 

To  the  scorn  which  was  akin  to  simulation,  suc- 
ceeded an  explosion  of  wrath,  as  I  exclaimed — 

"  I  am  the  sole  object  he  cannot  bear."  t 

And,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  my  impestuous  rage, 
I  paced  to  and  fro  upon  the  stage;  then,  seeing 
(Enone,  I  ran  precipitately  towards  her,  to  inform 
her  of  what  I  had  learnt.  With  savage  fury  I  re- 
called one  by  one  the  terrors,  the  burning  desires, 
the  torments  I  had  suffered,  in  order  to  show  that  they 
were  all  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  tremendous 
grief  which  at  that  moment  racked  my  heart.  My 
mind,  unsettled  from  the  burning  dart  of  jealousy 
that  was  rankling  in  my  bosom,  could  only  see  the 
image  of  my  preferred  rival,  smiling,  and  in  sweet 
converse   with    Hippolytus !      This    imaginary    joy 

*  "Hippolyte  est  sensible,  et  ne  sent  rien  pour  moi  1 
Aricie  a  son  cceur,  Aricie  a  sa  foix ! 
Ah  !  Dieux !  lorsqu'a  mes  voeux  I'ingrat  inexorable 
S'armait  d'un  ceil  si  tier,  d'un  front  si  redoutable, 
Je  pensais  qu'a  Tamour  son  cceur  ferme 
Ffit  contre  tout  mon  sexe  egalment  arme. 
Une  autre,  cependant,  a  fleche  son  audace, 
Devant  ses  yeux  cruels  une  autre  a  trouve  grace." 

t  "  Je  suis  le  seul  objet  qu'il  ne  saurait  souffrir." 


246  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

seemed  to  kill  me,  the  idea  of  the  felicity  of  these 
two  souls  was  insupportable. 

The  thought  of  vengeance  flashed  across  my  mind. 
I  had  already  given  QEnone  instructions  to  murder 
Aricia,  when  I  stayed  her  hand,  because  I  wished 
that  my  own  should  do  the  bloody  deed.  I  listened 
now  only  to  the  dictates  of  jealousy,  that  venomous 
asp  which  was  rending  my  bosom.  It  seemed  to  me 
well  to  induce  my  husband  to  punish  my  rival,  by 
stirring  up  his  hatred  against  the  family  to  which  she 
belonged ;  then  for  a  moment  reverting  to  myself,  I 
was  constrained  to  meditate  on  my  own  faults,  the 
enormity  of  which  had  driven  me  entirely  beside 
myself. 

Mad  as  I  was,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  breathed 
only  incest — lies.  I  desired  to  dip  my  avenging 
hand  in  innocent  blood. 

I  saw,  I  discerned  nothing  more  ;  in  my  delirium 
I  felt  myself  transported  to  the  presence  of  my  father, 
Minos,  the  great  judge  of  lost  souls  in  hell.  Already 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  fatal  urn,  in  which  are  en- 
closed the  decrees  containing  the  punishment  inflicted 
on  the  departed,  fell  from  his  hands,  while  he  strove 
to  devise  a  sharper  punishment  for  me.  I  fancied  I 
saw  him  fling  himself  upon  me  to  kill  me,  and  with  a 
bitter  scream  I  made  as  though  he  was  already  grasp- 
ing me  by  the  hair.  I  writhed  about  in  my  efforts  to 
escape  his  fatal  grasp.  I  pressed  my  hands  against 
my  head  to  try  and  avoid  that  furious  anger,  and 
with  a  cry  of  anguish  I  exclaimed — 

"  Pardon  I  a  cruel  god  has  betrayed  thy  family : 
Recognize  his  vengeance  in  the  passions  of  thy  daughter. 


PHAEDRA.  247 

Alas  I  my  sorrowful  heart  has  gathered  no  fruit 
From  the  frightful  crime  whose  shame  follows  me ; 
Pursued  by  evil  to  my  latest  moment, 
I  lay  down  my  life  in  torment,"  * 

and  I  fell  fainting  to  the  ground. 

In  order  to  increase  the  scenic  effect,  I  had  ar- 
ranged that  after  a  long  pause  CEnone  should  fall  on 
her  knees  beside  me,  and  with  kindly  and  persuasive 
words  raise  my  inanimate  form,  until  it  rested  par- 
tially upon  her  knees,  while  I  slowly,  and  gradually, 
recovered  my  scattered  senses,  and  broke  out  into 
reproaches  against  her.  Hearing  her  assert,  in  her 
anxiety  to  condone  my  fault,  that  the  gods  them- 
selves had  committed  it,  I  gradually  regained  suffi- 
cient strength  to  withdraw  from  her,  and  let  her  see 
with  what  scorn  and  anger  I  received  her  suggestion  ; 
but  when  I  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  stage  the 
nurse  followed  me,  and  falling  at  my  feet,  and  clasp- 
ing my  knees,  entreated  pardon.  Then  I  turned 
upon  her  in  all  my  rage,  and  hurled  at  her  Racine's 
celebrated  invective,  so  justly  famous  in  French 
literature. 

"  Away,  execrable  monster  I 
Leave  me,  the  sport  of  my  miserable  fate. 
May  a  just  Heaven  render  thee  worthy  payment! 
And  may  thy  punishment  for  ever  terrify 


*  "Pardonne  !  un  dieu  cruel  a  perdu  ta  famille  : 
Reconnais  se  vengeance  aux  fureurs  de  ta  fille. 
Helas !  du  crime  affreux  dont  la  honte  me  suit 
Jamais  mon  triste  coeur  n'a  recueilli  le  fruit ; 
Jusqu'au  dernier  soupir  de  malheurs  poursuivie, 
Je  rends  dans  les  tourments  une  penible  vie." 


248  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

All  those  who,  like  thee,  nourish  by  cowardly  dexterity 
The  failings  of  weak  princes, 

Urging  them  to  go  the  way  to  which  their  heart  inclines, 
And  smoothing  for  them  the  road  to  crime. 
Detestable  flatterers  !     Most  unhappy  present 
That  celestial  anger  can  make  to  kings  1 "  * 

and  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury  I  disappeared  from  view. 

The  fifth  Act  presents  no  great  difficulty  in  its 
interpretation. 

Phaedra  only  shows  herself  for  a  moment  at  the 
end  of  the  tragedy.  She  is  dying,  supported  by  her 
attendants,  the  victim  of  the  poison  she  had  swal- 
lowed to  still  for  ever  the  fearful  pangs  of  remorse 
for  the  faults  committed  through  fatal  blindness. 

In  a  spent  voice,  I  unfold  to  my  husband  my  inces- 
tuous passion  and  the  false  accusation  brought  against 
Hippolytus,  but  as  the  effects  of  the  deadly  draught 
grow  more  potent,  the  words  come  less  and  less  dis- 
tinctly from  my  lips.  As  my  agony  increased  I  was 
placed  in  my  easy-chair,  and  I  breathed  my  last  with 
my  body  half-falling  from  the  grasp  of  one  attendant, 
while  all  the  other  people  were  kneeling  around  me, 
in  sign  of  their  deep  grief  and  reverent  respect. 

*  "  Monstre  execrable, 
Va ;  laisse-moi,  le  soin  de  mon  sort  deplorable, 
Puisse  le  juste  ciel  dignement  te  payer  ! 
Et  puisse  ton  supplice  a  jamais  effrayer 
Tons  ceux  qui,  comme  toi,  par  des  laches  addresses 
Des  princes  malheureux  nourrissant  les  faiblesses, 
Les  poussant  au  penchant  oil  leur  cceur  est  inclin, 
I  Et  leur  osent  du  crime  aplanir  le  chemin. 

Detestables  flatteurs !  present  le  plus  funeste 
Que  puisse  faire  aux  rois  la  colere  celeste  t  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LADY  MACBETH. 

The  study  of  this  character  presented  the  greatest 
difficulties  to  me.  For  I  saw  in  Lady  Macbeth,  not 
merely  a  woman  actuated  by  low  passions  and  vulgar 
instincts,  but  rather  a  gigantic  conception  of  perfidy, 
dissimulation,  and  hypocrisy,  combined  by  the  master 
hand  of  Shakespeare  into  a  form  of  such  magnitude 
that  it  might  well  dismay  any  actress  of  great  dra- 
matic power. 

Long  and  close  examination  led  me  to  conclude 
that  Lady  Macbeth  was  animated  less  by  affection 
for  her  husband  than  by  excessive  ambition  to  share 
the  throne  which  seemed  within  his  reach.  She  was 
well  aware  of  his  mental  inferiority  to  herself,  of  his 
innate  weakness  of  character  and  indolence  of  dis- 
position, that  was  not  to  be  stimulated  into  action, 
even  by  the  thirst  for  power  which  was  consuming 
him,  and  she  therefore  made  use  of  him  as  a  means 
for  attaining  her  own  ends,  and  took  advantage  of 
the  unbounded  influence  her  strong  masculine  nature 
and  extraordinary  personal  fascination  enabled  her 
to  exercise  over  him,  to  instill  into  his  mind  the  first 
idea  of  crime  in  the  most  natural  way,  and  with  the 
most  persuasive  arguments. 

Not  that  Macbeth  himself  was  without  proclivities 
towards  evil.     Shakespeare  plainly  shows  the  germs 

(249) 


250  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

of  ambition,  and  the  chimerical  fancies  that  existed 
in  his  brain,  and  were  carefully  hidden  from  every  one, 
solely  because  they  seemed  impossible  of  realization. 
And  his  real  nature  cannot  be  better  described  than 
in  the  first  soliloquy  put  into  the  mouth  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  who,  with  her  profound  perspicacity,  had 
comprehended  every  shade  of  his  character.  This 
will  be  brought  out  more  fully  when  I  come  to  analyze 
the  message.  It  would  have  seemed  easier  to  credit 
Lady  Mecbeth  with  some  feelings  of  personal  tender- 
ness for  her  husband,  had  it  not  been  that  she  was 
to  share  the  power  and  dignity  with  him;  but  this 
being  so,  I  maintain. that  it  was  not  merely  ambition 
and  love  for  her  consort  which  led  her  to  instigate 
him  to  evil,  but  also  her  desire  to  mount  the  throne. 
It  is  Lady  Macbeth  all  through  who  lures  on  her  hes- 
itating husband  to  commit  the  deed  from  which  his 
more  cowardly  nature  shrinks.  It  is  she  who  taunt- 
ingly reminds  him 'of  his  oath,  who  reproaches  him 
with  pusillanimity ;  and  when  he  still  hesitates,  it  is 
she  who  declares  she  would  drag  her  infant  from  her 
breast,  and  dash  its  brains  out,  sooner  than  break 
her  plighted  word.  It  is  difficult  to  credit  a  woman 
of  this  kind  with  any  of  the  feelings  of  ordinary 
humanity. 

But  my  own  idea  on  the  subject  did  not  prevent 
the  continuing  of  my  studies  with  the  greatest  dili- 
gence. I  made  myself  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  play  and  with  the  interpretations  given  of  it  by 
the  most  eminent  artistes.  I  read  all  the  literature  I 
could  obtain  on  the  subject,  and  my  pleasure  may  be 
imagined,  when  I  found,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century 


LADY  MACBETH.  2$  1 

Magazine  for  February,  1878,  the  magnificent  paper 
on  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  her  acting  in  the  character  o£ 
Lady  Macbeth,  by  Mr.  G.  J.  Bell,  Professor  of  Juris- 
prudence in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Amongst 
many  other  interesting  passages  I  should  like  to 
quote  the  following  : — 

Her  (Lady  Macbeth's)  turbulent  and  inhuman  strength  of 
spirit  does  all.  She  turns  Macbeth  to  her  purpose,  makes  him 
her  mere  instrument,  guides,  directs,  and  inspires  the  whole 
plot.  Like  his  evil  genius  she  hurries  him  on  in  the  mad  career 
of  ambition  and  cruelty  from  which  his  nature  would  have 
shrunk. 

Having  thus  shown,  as  I  flatter  myself,  both  by 
arguments  and  undeniable  evidence,  that  my  inter- 
pretation of  the  personality  of  Lady  Macbeth  is 
probably  very  similar  to  that  which  Shakespeare 
conceived,  and  portrayed  both  in  his  own  words  and 
by  the  nature  of  the  facts,  I  will  pass  on  to  analyze 
several  other  important  points  in  this  difficult  part. 

Much  criticism  has  been  expended  upon  the  way 
in  which  the  letter,  sent  by  Macbeth  from  the  camp 
to  his  wife,  should  be  read.  Shakespeare  represents 
Lady  Macbeth  as  coming  upon  the  stage  with  it  in 
her  hands,  but  many  persons  consider  that  natural 
anxiety  to  know  its  contents  would  have  made  her 
tear  it  open  at  once,  without  waiting  until  she  could 
read  it  to  the  audience. 

Instead  of  which,  it  seems  to  me  far  from  likely 
that  Shakespeare,  who  was  as  great  a  philosopher  as 
he  was  a  poet,  and  who  possessed  a  marvellous 
insight  into  human  nature,  should  have  availed  him- 
self of  the  frivolous  expedient  of  making  Lady  Mac- 


252  ADELAIDE  R /STORE 

beth  read  her  letter  aloud  upon  the  stage,  simply  to 
inform  the  spectators  of  its  contents,  and  show  the 
intense  mental  struggle  she  must  have  gone  through 
prior  to  appearing  before  them.  Only  an  inexperi- 
enced writer  of  small  inventive  power  and  a  novice 
in  his  craft  would  have  resorted  to  such  a  puerile 
device. 

It  would  have  been  far  beneath  the  great  genius 
who  passed  from  the  sublime  to  the  beautiful  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning. 

The  intention  of  the  author  certainly  seems  to 
have  been  to  represent  Lady  Macbeth  as  receiving 
the  note  at  the  moment  she  appears  upon  the  scene, 
and  such  a  representation  must  be  most  simple  and 
natural.  Presenting  herself,  anxious  and  agitated, 
she  makes  the  public  understand  that,  by  means  of 
the  writing  she  holds  in  her  hands,  she  would  prob- 
ably be  able  to  reveal  to  them  events  which  would 
change  her  whole  future  existence  and  raise  her  to 
the  summit  of  greatness,  provided  that  circumstances 
should  conduce  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  designs  work- 
ing in  her  mind. 

I  decided  to  read  the  letter  straight  through,  and 
as  if,  in  coming  on  the  stage,  I  had  already  made 
myself  acquainted  with  its  first  words,  only  pausing 
after  those  sentences  which  told  how  recent  events 
had  actually  seemed  to  fulfil  the  prophecies  long  ago 
made  to  her.  Thus,  when  I  found  that  the  three 
fatal  sisters  had  vanished  into  thin  air,  after  predict- 
ing Macbeth's  great  future,  and  greeting  him  with 
"  Hail !  King  that  shall  be  !  "  my  expression  was  one 
of  mingled  awe,  and  superstitious  amazement.     Then 


LAD  V  MA  CBE  TH.  253 

when  I  finished  the  letter  I  made  a  long  pause,  as 
though  to  allow  time  for  my  mind  to  analyze  each 
phrase  wherein  the  supernatural  powers  pointed  out 
the  destiny  I  had  had  prefigured  to  me  as  likely  to  be 
accomplished. 

But,  afterwards,  I  remained  for  a  moment  sad  and 
doubtful,  considering  and  fearing  the  weak  nature  of 
my  consort.  However,  reflecting  on  the  most  salient 
points  of  the  message,  I  said  : — 

"  Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor  thou  shalt  be," 

and  to  the  last  three  words,  "  thou  shalt  be,"  I  gave 
a  supernatural  emphasis  and  expression, 

I  was  much  gratified  later  on,  by  finding  from  the 
excellent  article  by  Professor  Bell,  to  which  I  have 
already  referred,  that  Mrs.  Siddons  was  also  accus- 
tomed to  declaim  this  passage  in  "  a  lofty,  prophetic 
tone,  as  though  the  whole  future  had  been  revealed 
to  her  soul,"  and  that  she  accentuated  the  words 
"thou  shalt  be  "  just  as  I  did. 

This  is  another  convincing  proof  that  Mrs.  Siddons 
understood  equally  well  the  importance  of  analyzing 
the  contents  of  the  letter,  of  pondering  every  phrase 
of  it,  and  of  transmitting  its  mystic  signification  to  the 
public,  even  amidst  her  deep  fever  of  ambition,  and 
naturally  her  expression  of  it  would  have  been  very 
different  if  she  had  been  aware  of  what  the  paper 
contained  before  coming  upon  the  stage. 

I  considered  that  I  should  be  acting  logically,  and 
in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  the  words,  if,  while  I 
spoke  the  following  lines  describing  the  character  of 
Macbeth,  I  imagined  him  already  standing  by  my 


254  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

side,  and  I  therefore  fixed  my  stern  and  piercing  gaze 
upon  his  supposed  figure,  as  though  I  would  wrench 
from  him  the  most  hidden  secrets  of  his  soul,  and  im- 
print my  own  words  upon  his  mind  in  letters  of  fire. 

"  Yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature ; 
It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness, 
To  catch  the  nearest  way.     Thou  would'st  be  great ; 
Art  not  without  ambitioM,but  without 
The  illness  should  attend  it.     What  thou  would'st  highly, 
That  would'st  thou  holily ;  would'st  not  play  false, 
And  yet  would'st  wrongly  win ;  thou'dst  have  great  Glamis, 
That  which  cries,  thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it ; 
And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do, 
Thou  wishest  should  be  undone." 

Then,  to  show  that  my  pre-occupation  had  ceased, 
and  that  I  ardently  desired  the  return  of  my  husband 
to  begin  and  weave  the  web  of  evil  arts  and  spells, 
as  I  spoke  the  lines — 

"  Hie  thee  hither 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirit  in  thine  ear; 
And  chastise  with  the  valor  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 
"Which  faith  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crowned  withal." 

I  returned  to  the  left  side  of  the  stage  where  the 
entrance  might  be  supposed  to  be  (and  where  Mac- 
beth might  be  expected  to  enter),  while  to  express  the 
cessation  of  my  reflections,  I  began  to  form  in  my 
own  mind  the  plan  which  the  reading  of  the  letter 
natural'ly  suggested  to  me. 

The  terrible  soliloquy  in  this  scene,  which  follows 
the  departure  of  the  attendant,  who  has  announced 
his  master's  speedy  arrival,  reveals  all  the  perfidy  and 


LADY  MACBETH.  255 

cruelty  of  this  woman,  who  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  monster  in  human  shape,  and  shows  with  what 
supernatural  powers  she  arms  herself  in  order  to 
succeed  in  leading  her  husband  to  become  the  instru- 
ment of  her  ambition.  In  one  word,  she  is  hence- 
forth Macbeth's  evil  genius.  With  him  it  is  still 
a  question  of  "I  Will,"  or  "I  will  not."  This 
woman,  this  serpent,  masters  him,  holds  him  fast  in 
her  coils,  and  no  human  power  will  come  to  rescue 
him  from  them.  In  consequence  I  uttered  the  first 
words  of  this  monologue  in  a  hollow  voice,  with  blood- 
thirsty eyes,  and  with  the  accent  of  a  spirit  speaking 
from  out  of  some  abyss,  and,  as  I  continued,  my  voice 
grew  louder  and  more  resonant,  until  it  changed  into 
an  exaggerated  cry  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  my  husband. 
Throughout  the  following  scene  with  Macbeth  I 
preserved  a  cold,  dignified,  and  calm  demeanor,  and 
I  ignored  the  trivial  scruples  with  which  he  received 
my  guilty  suggestions,  as  totally  unworthy  of  consid- 
eration, confident  that  his  weak  and  irresolute  nature 
must  eventually  succumb  to  my  stronger  one.  I  con- 
ceived the  plan  of  making  use  of  by-play  at  the  exit 
of  the  two  personages  to  impress  the  overwhelming 
influence  I  exercised  over  him,  silencing  any  further 
remonstrances  on  his  part,  by  drawing  his  left  arm 
round  my  waist.  In  this  attitude  I  took  his  right 
hand  in  mine,  and  placing  the  first  finger  on  my  lips 
swore  him  thus  to  silence.  Then  I  gradually  and 
gently  pushed  him  behind  the  scenes,  towards  which 
his  back  was  now  turned.  All  this  was  accomplished 
with  as  much  delicacy  and  so  many  magnetic  looks, 
that  Macbeth  had  to  own  their  fascination,  and  yield 
to  my  will. 


256  ADELAIDE  KTSTORI. 

The  hypocrisy  and  feigned  humility  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth when  she  went  out  afterwards  to  meet  King 
Duncan,  were  excessive,  and  it  was  with  most  perfid- 
ious, yet  well  chosen  words,  that  she  invited  the 
good  old  monarch  to  enter  the  Castle.  In  the  sub- 
sequent scene  with  her  husband,  there  are  two  things 
which  it  is  necessary  to  delineate  correctly  and  bring 
out  in  the  most  striking  colors.  First,  the  contrast 
between  her  wicked  arts,  when  she  energetically  re- 
bukes Macbeth  for  his  cowardly  fickleness  in  not 
wishing  to  see  himself  in  that  place  he  recently  so 
much  desired,  because  of  a  puerile  awakening  of  con- 
science, and  second,  the  infernal  skill  with  which  she 
tries  to  persuade  him  that  the  crime  is  easy,  simple, 
and  natural,  and  impossible  to  be  discovered.  Vari- 
ous are  the  terrible  passages  in  this  masterly  scene  ; 
that,  when  she  reproaches  him  for  having  left  the 
supper  table  so  hastily  that  his  absence  might  well 
excite  comments,  and  he  replies  by  imploring  her  to 
forget  the  evil  scheme,  and  not  make  him  guilty  of 
the  basest  ingratitude,  she  answers : — 

"  Was  the  hope  drunk 
Wherein  you  dressed  yourself  ?     Hath  it  slept  since  ? 
And  wakes  it  now  to  look  so  green  and  pale 
At  what  it  did  so  freely  ?     From  this  time, 
Such  I  account  my  love.     Art  thou  afraid 
To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valor, 
As  thou  art  in  desire  ?     Would'st  thou  have  that 
Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 
And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem; 
Letting  I  dare  not,  wait  upon  I  would. 
Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage  ?  "  * 

*The  proverb  registered  by  Haywood  in  1865,  runs  as  fol- 
lows : — "  The  cat  would  have  fish,  but  dare  not  wet  her  feet." 


LADY  MACBETH.  2$^ 

Macbeth  :  Prythee,  peace, 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  became  a  man, 
Who  dare  do  more  is  none." 

Lady  Macbeth  (terrified  lest  her  ambitions  have 
been  raised  only  to  be  disappointed),  cries  in  fiendish 
tones : — 

"  What  beast  was  it  then. 
That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man; 
And  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time,  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.     I  have  given  suck;  and  know 
How  tender  'tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me : 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  plucked  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 
And  dashed  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn,  as  you 
Have  done  to  this  1 " 

Here  the  perplexity  which  is  Macbeth's  character- 
istic induces  him  to  ask  his  consort  impatiently — 

"  If  we  should  fail  ? " 

to  which  she  replies  in  a  scornful  tone — 

"  We  fail ! 
But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  place, 
And  we'll  not  fail.     Here  Duncan  is  asleep, 
(Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  hard  day's  journey 
Soundly  invite  him)  his  two  chamberlains 
Will  I  with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince, 
That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain. 
Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 
A  limbeck  only  :  When  in  swinish  sleep 
Their  drenched  natures  lie,  as  in  a  death. 
What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 

17 


258  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

The  unguarded  Duncan  ?     What  not  put  upon 
His  spongy  officers ;  who  shall  bear  the  guilt  of  our  great 
quelL" 

The  second  Act  may  be  dismissed  in  a  few  words, 
as  the  situations  in  it  are  quite  clear,  and  arise  natu- 
rally out  of  the  progress  of  the  action,  and  they  offer 
no  difficulty  in  interpretation,  although  embracing  the 
dreadful  vigils,  and  fearful  agony  of  mind  endured 
by  Lady  Macbeth.  It  is  easy  to  understand  the 
anxiety  she  felt  to  know  the  result  of  her  well-laid 
schemes  for  the  murder  of  Duncan,  her  joy  at  its 
completion,  and  the  agitation  into  which  the  frenzy 
and  remorse  of  her  miserable  husband  would  be  sure 
to  throw  her.  The  repeated  and  incessant  knocking 
at  the  gate  of  the  Castle,  which  began  at  this  precise 
moment,  would  be  another  source  of  alarm,  because 
Macbeth's  state  of  utter  prostration  might  draw  sus- 
picion upon  him,  and  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the 
plans  conceived  in  her  mind  with  so  much  satanic 
skill. 

The  situations  in  the  third  Act  are  of  great  import- 
ance, and  I  therefore  give  a  most  minute  and  careful 
analysis  of  them,  in  order  to  make  apparent  that  I 
had  tried  to  seize  the  precise  meaning  intended  by 
the  author.  In  this  Act,  which  shows,  more  than  any 
other,  the  wonderful  genius  of  Shakespeare,  Lady 
Macbeth  can  give  much  additional  force,  if  not  by 
words,  at  any  rate  by  her  skilful  by-play,  and  can  in- 
crease or  diminish  its  many  dramatic  beauties.  For 
example,  according  to  my  interpretation,  the  entrance 
of  the  assassin  who  comes  to  announce  the  murder 
of  Banquo,  and  the  attempt  on  the  life  of  his  son 


LADY  MACBETH.  259 

Fleance  to  Macbeth,  and  which  causes  him  to  experi- 
ence two  such  great  but  varying  emotions,  would  not 
escape  the  vigilant  eyes  of  Lady  Macbeth.  There- 
fore, at  the  sight  of  the  assassin,  who  presents 
himself  on  the  threshold,  she  alone  perceives  him 
speaking  in  subdued  tones  to  her  husband,  notes  the 
repressed  movements,  and  keeps  him  constantly  in 
view.  For  she  fears  some  imprudence  on  the  part  of 
Macbeth,  remembering  that  he  had  told  her  shortly 
before,  that  a  great  thing  would  soon  happen,  which 
would  amaze  her. 

I  considered  that  in  this  scene  Lady  Macbeth  would 
be  terribly  afraid  lest  the  guests  should  observe  this 
strange  colloquy,  in  such  a  place,  and  at  such  a 
moment,  and  might  conceive  grave  suspicions  which 
would  defeat  all  their  projects.  Hence  I  found  it 
necessary  and  opportune  to  engage  in  a  kind  of  double 
by-play,  that  is  to  say,  with  an  air  of  the  greatest 
courtesy  to  take  part  in  the  conversation  of  the  guests, 
and  the  toasts  they  drank  to  me,  remaining,  however, 
always  upon  their  seats,  while  at  intervals  I  cast 
furtive  and  timorous  glances  towards  the  group  made 
by  my  husband  and  the  murderer. 

At  last,  in  order  to  make  Macbeth  aware  of  the 
danger  he  ran  of  betraying  himself  by  some  impru- 
dence, I  said  in  a  clear  voice,  and  with  much  ostenta- 
tion of  gayety  : — 

"  My  lord, 
You  do  not  give  the  cheer,  the  feast  is  cold 
That  is  not  often  touched,  while  'tis  a  making, 
'Tis  given  with  welcome  ;  to  feed  were  best  at  home 
From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony. 
Meeting  were  bare  without  it." 


26o  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

With  the  same  by-play,  but  in  a  yet  more  distinct 
tone  of  voice,  in  which  an  accent  of  reproof  mingled 
with  my  half  serious,  half  facetious  words,  I  gave 
another  warning — 

"  My  worthy  lord, 
Our  noble  friends  do  lack  you," — 

in  such  a  way,  however,  that  I  made  Macbeth  alone 
understand,  by  the  power  of  my  significant  glances, 
what  this  second  appeal  really  meant. 

This  was  apparently  justified  by  my  insinuations 
that  he  was  wanting  in  courtesy  to  his  guests,  and 
was  neglecting  them.  Afterwards,  I  experienced  the 
greatest  agitation  and  dismay  at  the  discovery  of  Mac- 
beth's  incomprehensible  and  frightful  visions,  seeing 
him  on  the  point  of  revealing  all  the  secret  of  our 
crimes.  Evidently,  in  this  situation,  every  expression 
used  by  Lady  Macbeth,  and  every  effort  made  by  her 
to  hide  the  hallucinations  of  her  husband,  and  bring 
him  back  to  himself  by  the  most  bitter  although  sub- 
dued reproofs,  required  the  closest  study,  for  it  is 
essential  to  remember  that  an  appearance  of  gayety 
must  be  preserved  upon  the  countenance  whenever  it 
is  turned  towards  the  guests,  in  order  to  excuse  the 
strange  demeanor  of  the  husband  on  the  ground  of 
an  ancient  malady. 

At  last,  when  the  increasing  frenzy  of  Macbeth 
rendered  vain  every  effort  to  restrain  him,  his  wife 
was  obliged  to  dismiss  her  guests  in  an  agony  of  fear, 
in  order  to  remain  alone  with  him,  and  put  an  end  to 
a  situation  which  had  become  both  impossible  and 
dangerous. 


LADY  MACBE Til.  26 1 

From  the  moment  of  their  departure  I  dated  the 
commencement  of  the  mental  prostration  of  their  un- 
happy hostess,  which  ended  at  last  in  total  derange- 
ment. In  order  to  justify  this,  I  found  it  necessary 
to  imagine  some  by-play  which  should  convey  an  idea 
of  her  depression  and  discouragement,  possessed  as 
I  was  by  the  sad  conviction  that  it  was  in  vain  to 
fight  against  destiny,  which  had  become  adverse  with 
lightning-like  rapidity.  I  let  it  be  seen  how  remorse 
had  begun  to  torment  me. 

At  the  close  of  the  Act,  at  the  moment  of  disap- 
pearing, I  showed  that  I  experienced  a  feeling  of  pity 
for  Macbeth,  rendered  by  my  means  the  most  miser- 
able of  men,  and  in  saying  to  him, 

"  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures — sleep." 

I  took  his  left  hand  in  my  right,  leaned  against  his 
shoulder,  and  then,  with  my  head  now  bent  towards 
the  ground  in  an  attitude  of  sorrowful  meditation, 
now  raised  to  heaven  with  an  expression  of  dismay, 
now  turning  towards  my  husband  with  a  look  full  of 
vivid  remorse  that  agitated  my  soul,  1  drew  him 
gently  towards  our  room,  in  the  same  way  that  one 
would  lead  an  exhausted  maniac.  Then,  when  we 
reached  the  limits  of  the  scene,  I  made  Macbeth,  who 
was  terrified  by  a  fold  of  his  mantle  getting  between 
his  feet,  have  another  fearful  paroxysm.  With  a  sud- 
den rush  he  passed  to  the  other  side.  Frightened, 
yet  forcing  myself  to  master  my  own  terror,  I  could 
not  help,  in  spite  of  my  efforts,  letting  the  public  see 
I  was  shaken,  but  with  a  gentle  violence,  I  succeeded 


262  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

in  pushing  Macbeth  behind  the  scenes,  endeavoring 
to  calm  him  by  affectionate  means. 

This  by-play,  which  was  in  strict  accordance  with 
the  spirit  of  the  scene,  always  produced  an  immense 
effect  upon  my  audience. 

Lady  Macbeth  has  only  one  short  scene  in  the 
fifth  Act,  but  it  is  one  of  Shakespeare's  most  magnifi- 
cent conceptions,  and  tries  the  powers  of  an  actress 
to  the  uttermost.  This  woman,  this  colossus  of 
physical  and  moral  force,  who,  by  a  word,  had  the 
power  of  conceiving  and  bringing  into  execution  plots 
hatched  with  such  infer-nal  power  that  only  an  assem- 
bly of  demons  could  have  succeeded  with  them — 
behold  her !  reduced  to  the  ghost  of  her  former  self 
by  the  effects  of  that  remorse  which  gnawed  like  a 
vulture  at  her  heart,  her  reason  disturbed  until  she 
became  so  unconscious  of  herself  as  to  reveal  her 
tremendous  secret  in  her  sleep.  Sleep,  did  I  say? 
It  is  rather  a  fever  which  mounts  to  her  brain,  which 
makes  her  drowsy,  and  only  the  physical  suffering 
overmastering  her  spirit  with  the  record  of  the  evil  of 
which  it  is  the  cause,  controls  and  regulates  her  move- 
ments, and  turns  all  her  ideas  astray.  This  is  proved 
by  her  attendant's  words  to  the  Doctor : — 

"  Since  his  Majesty  went  into  the  field,  I  have  seen  her  rise 
from  her  bed,  thrown  her  nightgown  upon  her,  unlock  her 
closet,  take  forth  paper,  fold  it,  write  upon  it,  read  it,  after- 
wards seal  it,  and  again  return  to  bed  ;  yet  all  this  while  in  a 
most  fast  sleep." 

It  cost  me  long  and  most  anxious  study  to  represent 
this  artificial  and  duplex  manifestation,  melting  the 
effects  one  into  the  other  without  falling  into  exagger- 


LAD  Y  MA  CBE  TH.  263 

ation  at  every  change  of  manner,  voice,  or  expression 
of  my  face.  I  came  upon  the  scene  looking  like  an 
automaton,  and  dragging  my  feet  after  me  as  though 
they  were  weighted  with  lead  ;  mechanically  I  placed 
my  lamp  upon  the  table,  taking  care  that  all  my 
movements  should  be  slow  and  deliberate,  and  thus 
indicate  the  numbness  of  my  nerve  power.  My  eyes 
were  wide  open,  but  fixed  and  glassy.  They  looked, 
and  yet  they  saw  nothing.  I  breathed  hard  and  with 
difficulty.  My  whole  appearance,  in  fact,  showed  a 
state  of  extreme  nervous  agitation  produced  by  the 
disorganization  of  my  brain.  I  endeavored  by  these 
distinct  and  visible  effects  to  make  the  change  in 
Lady  Macbeth  patent  to  all  eyes,  and  to  show  that 
she  was  suffering  from  a  mental  rather  than  a  physical 
malady,  which  had  a  terrible  yet  all-sufficient  cause. 

When  I  had  placed  the  light  upon  the  table  I  ad- 
vanced to  the  front  of  the  stage.  I  made  as  if  I  had 
discovered  blood  still  upon  my  hands,  and,  in  trying 
to  wash  it  off,  I  used  the  attitude  of  one  who  holds 
a  quantity  of  water  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  there- 
with to  cleanse  them.  I  was  very  careful  in  this 
movement,  and  repeated  it  in  several  places  with 
slight  variations.     After  this  action  I  said  : — 

"  Yet  here's  a  spot  1     Out  damned  spot,  I  say ! " 

Then  listening  intently — 

"  One,  two — why  then  'tis  time  to  do  it." 

And  I  continued,  as  though  replying  to  some  imagin- 
ary speaker — 

"  Hell  is  murky  !  Fie,  my  Lord,  fie !  a  soldier,  and  afraid ! 
What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our 
power  to  account." 


264  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Here,  reverting  to  the  real  cause  of  my  delirium,  I 
cried  : — 

"  Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so 
much  blood  in  him  !" 

and,  while  I  spoke,  I  made  a  movement  with  my 
hands  as  though  I  was  struck  at  seeing  the  blood 
with  which  it  seemed  to  me  they  were  still  stained. 
Then  my  delirium  returned  upon  me — 

"  The  Thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife !     Where  is  she  now? " 

I  began,  but  my  attention  was  once  more  attracted  to 
my  hands,  and  with  an  expression,  half  of  anger,  half 
of  sorrow,  I  cried  : — 

"  What !  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean  ? " 

rubbing  them  as  I  spoke  with  convulsive  energy. 

Then,  still  in  my  delirium,  and  in  a  sharp,  angry 
tone,  I  feigned  to  be  whispering  into  the  ear  of  Mac- 
beth— 

"  No  more  o'  that,  my  Lord,  no  more  o'  that !  You  mar  all 
with  this  starting." 

But  once  again  my  original  idea  possessed  me.  I 
slightly  sniffed  my  hands,  and  pretending  to  recognize 
the  smell  of  blood  upon  them,  broke  forth  in  my 
anguish — 

"Here's  the  smell  of  the  blood  still;  all  the  perfumes  of 
Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand.     Oh  I  Oh  !  Oh  !  " 

These  exclamations  were  wrung  from  me  as  though 
a  grasp  of  iron  were  laid  upon  my  heart  which  would 
hardly  allow  me  utterance,  and  I  remained  with  my 
head  thrown  back,  breathing  with  difificulty,  as  if 
overcome  by  a  profound  lethargy. 


LAD  V  MA  CBE  TH.  26$ 

During  the  short  dialogue  between  the  lady-in- 
waiting  and  the  doctor,  I  feigned  that  I  was  trans- 
ported in  my  delirium  to  the  scene  of  the  murder  of 
Duncan,  and,  as  though  the  cause  of  my  change  of 
expression  might  be  the  sight  of  the  King's  apart- 
ment, I  advanced  cautiously,  with  my  body  bent  for- 
ward towards  the  right-hand  side  of  the  stage,  where, 
as  I  imagined,  the  assassination  had  taken  place.  I 
fancied  I  heard  the  hasty  steps  of  my  husband,  and 
I  stood  in  an  attitude  of  expectation,  and  with  strain- 
ing eyes,  apparently  waiting  his  arrival  to  assure  me 
that  the  dreadful  deed  was  accomplished.  Then, 
with  a  cry  of  joy,  as  though  I  saw  him  approach  to 
announce  the  complete  fulfilment  of  our  plans,  I  ex- 
claimed, in  violent  agitation  : — 

"Wash  your  hands!.  Put  on  your  nightgown.  Look  not  so 
pale.  I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo's  buried,  he  cannot  come 
out  of  his  grave." 

Throughout  this  scene  I  was  careful  not  to  forget 
that  I  was  a  woman  speaking  in  her  disturbed  sleep, 
therefore,  between  each  sentence  I  uttered,  I  drew 
my  breath  in  long,  half-stifled  gasps,  and  when  I  came 
to  the  words — 

"To  bed,  to  bed  !  there's  knocking  at  the  gate.  Come,  come, 
come !  Give  me  your  hand.  What's  done  cannot  be  undone. 
To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed  !  " 

I  changed  to  a  more  coaxing  and  persuasive  tone  of 
voice,  as  though  I  would  obtain  ready  compliance. 
Then,  terrified  by  the  knocking  I  fancied  I  heard  at 
the  castle  gate,  and  fearful  of  a  surprise,  I  showed  a 
violent  emotion,  a  sudden  dismay.      I  imagined  it 


266  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

was  necessary  to  conceal  ourselves  promptly  in  our 
apartment,  and  turned  towards  it,  inviting  Macbeth  to 
accompany  me,  speaking  the  last  two  words,  "  Come, 
come  !  "  in  imperative  and  furious  tones  ;  after  which, 
feigning  to  seize  his  hand,  I  showed  that  I  would 
place  him  in  safety  in  spite  of  himself,  and  urging 
him  on  with  great  difficulty  I  disappeared  from  the 
view  of  the  audience,  saying  in  a  choking  voice  : — 

"To  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed!" 

Here  I  end  my  analysis  of  a  character  which  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  that  has  ever  been  conceived 
by  a  human  mind,  and  the  study  of  which  is  rendered 
all  the  more  difficult  by  the  singular  situations  in  which 
the  imagination  of  the  poet  places  Lady  Macbeth. 

But,  as  I  am  assured  in  my  own  mind  that  I  have 
done  the  best  that  in  me  lay,  to  enter  into  the  true 
character  of  this  strange  personage,  I  confide  this 
analysis  of  my  interpretation  of  it  to  the  judgment  of 
the  critics,  who,  it  seems  to  me,  should  at  least 
appreciate  the  labor  and  study  I  have  brought  to 
bear  upon  it. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

QUEEN    ELIZABETH. 

It  is  a  task  of  the  greatest  difficulty  to  give  any 
adequate  idea  of  the  real  personality  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth of  England  upon  the  stage,  for  in  her  regal  dig- 
nity, haughtiness,  transcendent  abilities,  great  powers 
of  dissimulation,  consummate  hypocrisy,  and  love  of 
absolute  authority  were  strangely  combined  with  the 
weaknesses  and  frivolities  of  a  woman  who  could  con- 
descend at  times  to  actual  vulgarity.  Such  a  character 
would  tax  the  powers  of  any  actress,  but  more  espe- 
cially of  one  whose  wide-spread  fame  had  led  the 
critics  to  expect  great  things  from  her. 

Thus  when,  in  1854,  I  thought  of  adding  to  my 
repertoire  the  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth  in  the  drama 
of  that  name  by  my  illustrious  and  much-lamented 
countryman,  Paolo  Giacometti,  I  felt  that,  as  a  pre- 
liminary step,  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  devote  all 
my  powers  to  an  exhaustive  study  of  such  historical 
notices  of  her  as  might  serve  to  elucidate  the  char- 
acter and  disposition  of  this  celebrated  Queen. 

The  result  of  my  investigations  was  to  convince 
me  that,  although  as  a  political  personage  and  a 
Sovereign,  Elizabeth  was  endowed  with  such  great 
and  eminent  qualities  as  to  render  her  famous 
throughout  the  civilized  world,  and  especially  en- 
deared her  to  her  own  subjects,  yet,  as  a  woman,  her 

(267) 


268  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

undoubted  cruelty  and  hypocrisy,  her  violent  pre- 
judices, and  her  unreasonable  fits  of  passion,  all  duly 
authenticated  by  history,  might  well  render  her  an 
object  of  aversion  rather  than  admiration.  Indeed, 
her  character  is  so  little  in  accord  with  the  spirit  of 
the  present  day  that  the  reader  will  easily  understand 
how  utterly  repugnant  it  was  to  my  feelings  to  at- 
tempt the  representation  of  such  a  rare  and  unique 
personality  as  that  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

Now  it  has  always  been  a  necessity  of  my  nature 
that  a  new  part  should  not  only  contain  some  notable 
difficulties  to  be  overcome,  but  should  also  be  one 
with  which  I  could  feel  myself  in  complete  sympathy. 
I  was  therefore  strongly  tempted  to  renounce  my 
project  of  assaying  the  role  of  the  English  Queen, 
and  my  reluctance  grew  in  proportion  as  I  became 
acquainted  with  her  many  acts  of  cruelty,  especially 
in  relation  to  Mary  Stuart.  But  my  manager,  who 
was  then  director  of  the  Royal  Theatrical  Company, 
in  the  services  of  the  King  of  Sardinia,  waxed  elo- 
quent as  he  enumerated  the  many  inconveniences 
which  W'Ould  result  from  my  refusal.  For,  while  I 
had  been  occupied  with  my  researches,  the  prepara- 
tions for  putting  the  drama  upon  the  stage  had  been 
pushed  on  apace.  Everything  was  therefore  ready, 
and  the  public  were  expecting  the  new  play. 

Under  these  circumstances,  I  felt  I  must  endeavor 
to  evercome  mj'  own  personal  reluctance,  and  so, 
although  the  character  of  Elizabeth  was  so  uncon- 
genial to  me  as  to  take  from  me  all  desire  to  interpret 
it,  I  resolved  to  make  an  extra  effort  to  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  part.     And  I  had  my  reward,  for  I 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  269 

believe  I  shall  not  err  in  saying  that  the  public  have 
always  regarded  this  as  one  of  the  most  elaborate 
and  complete  studies  in  my  repertoire. 

From  the  moment  of  my  first  appearance  upon  the 
stage  in  this  character,  I  endeavored,  by  my  bearing, 
gestures,  and  tone  of  voice,  to  convey  to  my  audi- 
ence that  they  were  in  the  presence  of  a  woman  who 
was  familiar  with  the  management  of  difficult  affairs 
of  State,  who  had  perfect  confidence  in  her  own 
judgment,  and  who  was  accustomed  to  have  her  decis- 
ion received  as  final.  In  addition  to  this,  I  repre- 
sented the  Queen  as  a  well-read  and  well-educated 
woman,  perfectly  aware  of  her  own  abilities  and  her 
unusual  degree  of  culture,  and  especially  proud  of  her 
extensive  acquaintance  with  foreign  languages,  as  is 
evident  from  her  reply  to  the  Polish  Ambassador, 
who,  when  he  was  addressing  her  in  the  Latin 
tongue,  made  sundry  indiscretions  under  the  belief 
that  the  Queen  would  not  understand  him,  and  who 
was  overwhelmed  with  amazement  when  she  answered 
him  in  the  same  language.  She  afterwards  boasted 
to  her  courtiers  with  ill-concealed  pride:  "I  even 
brushed  up  my  old  Latin  for  him." — (Historical.) 

I  was  also  careful  to  show  the  audience  by  my 
manner  at  this  early  portion  of  the  play  that  Eliza- 
beth, in  spite  of  the  real  inclination  she  then  felt  for 
the  Earl  of  Essex,  was  determined  by  her  scornful 
and  haughty  demeanor  to  place  every  one  around 
her  on  a  level  far  beneath  her  own,  when  she  had 
grounds  for  believing  that  one  of  her  subjects  had 
dared  to  raise  his  ambition  so  high  as  to  aspire  to 
her  hand. 


270  ADELAIDE  RISTOKI. 

In  the  first  Act  the  scene  is  remarkable  in  which 
Giacometti,  with  one  of  those  inspirations  usual  to 
him,  imagined  a  very  difficult  contrast  of  action  and 
at  the  same  time  a  trait  characteristic  of  this  great 
Queen,  offering  besides  an  opportunity  to  the  actress 
to  give  proof  of  her  power." 

Elizabeth  is  engaged  in  dictating  two  letters  at  the 
same  time  in  alternate  sentences,  employing  for  the 
one  the  services  of  her  secretary  Davison,  and 
for  the  other  those  of  young  Francis  Bacon,  The 
former  is  couched  in  a  tone  of  deep  irritation,  and  is 
addressed  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  who  has  written 
to  inform  her  of  the  ovation  he  had  received  in 
Flanders,  carrying  his  audacity  so  far  as  to  ask  her 
permission  to  accept  the  crown  which  has  been 
offered  him  by  Counts  Egmont,  Horn,  and  Flessing, 
in  the  name  of  the  Low  Countries.  The  Earl's  com- 
munication has  been  made  in  terms  much  more 
befitting  one  monarch  addressing  another  than  a 
subject  entreating  a  favor  from  his  sovereign,  and 
has  roused  Elizabeth's  deep  resentment. 

The  second  missive  is  to  Judge  Popham,  and  has 
its  origin  in  the  following  circumstances : — Although 
Bacon  was  well  aware  that  Elizabeth  objected  very 
strongly  to  Shakespeare's  latest  play  of  Henry  VIII., 
in  which  not  only  the  Queen's  father  and  mother, 
but  herself  also,  as  an  infant,  are  brought  upon  ths 
stage,  yet  he  had  nevertheless,  in  order  to  extort 
her  consent  to  its  representation,  ventured  to  en- 
treat the  Queen  on  bended  knee  to  permit  him  to 
read  some  passages  to  her.  With  a  very  ill-grace 
she  finally  consented,  and  Bacon,  animated  by  all  the 


Q  UEEN  ELIZA  BE  TH.  2/1 

enthusiasm  which  an  author  might  feel  in  reading  his 
own  work  (and  indeed  there  are  people  who  believe 
that  this  drama  was  his)  proceeded  to  declaim  certain 
lines  which  foretold  the  grandeur,  prosperity,  and 
long  life  of  Elizabeth,  the  poet  also  lauding  to  the 
skies  the  magnanimity  and  surpassing  glory  of  the 
"Virgin  Queen." 

Bacon's  stratagem  fully  succeeded.  Hearing  her- 
self thus  extolled,  Elizabeth  seized  a  pen  and  with 
her  own  hand  wrote  at  the  foot  of  the  manuscript 
that  it  was  her  good  pleasure  for  the  drama  of  Henry 
Vin.  to  be  represented  within  fifteen  days  at  Wind- 
sor in  the  Court  Theatre.  But,  hearing  from  Bacon 
that  it  was  impossible  to  give  effect  so  speedily  to  the 
Queen's  wishes,  Shakespeare  himself  being  then  in 
prison  for  debt,  Elizabeth  at  once  dictated  to  Bacon 
the  letter  to  Judge  Popham  telling  the  latter  that  she 
had  consented  to  the  play  being  acted,  and  by  way 
of  reprimanding  him  for  his  want  of  acuteness  in  for- 
bidding a  piece  which  sang  her  own  praises  so  loudly, 
she  bade  Bacon  add  that  it  was  her  good  pleasure 
Popham  himself  should  become  liable  for  Shakes- 
peare's debts,  a  full  schedule  of  which  would  be  sent  to 
him  by  Sir  Francis  Bacon.  The  letter  ended  thus: — 
"  I  hope  another  time  you  will  put  on  your  spectacles 
in  order  the  better  to  distinguish  white  from  black." 

I  dictated  these  letters  at  the  same  time.  In  the 
one  addressed  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  making  use 
of  the  most  severe  expressions  of  anger,  declaring 
that  "crowns  are  not  made  for  heads  like  yours — far 
less  that  of  Belgium,  which  has  already  been  refused 
by  your  Sovereign."     I  further  ordered  him  to  resign 


272  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

immediately  the  command  of  the  troops  to  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  otherwise  I  would  have  him  "  taken  prisoner 
by  a  regiment  of  cavalry." 

The  dictation  of  this  letter  I  alternated  with  that 
to  Popham,  which  was  at  once  familiar,  cold,  author- 
itative, and  sarcastic  in  expression. 

In  the  second  Act,  there  are  some  truly  remarkable 
scenes — and  the  author  has  found  the  way  of  deline- 
ating them  so  well — collecting  various  passages  in 
the  life  of  Elizabeth  ;  uniting  them  so  skilfully  with 
each  other;  making  use  of  all  the  liberties  of  time 
and  space  allowed  on  the  stage,  without,  how'ever, 
injuring  or  changing  in  the  slightest  degree  the  regu- 
lar course  of  the  action,  as  to  make  the  connection 
appear  both  natural  and  interesting. 

I  especially  liked  this  second  Act,  because  it  gave 
me  the  opportunity  for  a  little  comedy  of  which  I  was 
particularly  fond  at  that  time.  Even  later  it  was  a 
boon  for  me  when  through  any  circumstances  I  could 
play  La  Locomotiera  or  /  Gelosi  Fortunati.  When  I 
speak  of  comedy,  I  refer  to  the  scene  with  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  in  which,  like  an  experienced  coquette, 
now  she  seems  to  understand  and  accept  the  love  he 
cherishes  for  her,  compassionating  his  ill-concealed 
jealousy  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  whom  he  believes 
his  fortunate  rival ;  now  suddenly  assuming  the  tone 
of  an  offending  sovereign  and  driving  Essex  from  her 
presence,  when  the  latter,  hearing  the  Queen  boast — 

"  Into  this  royal  heart  no  weak  affection  has  ever  entered," 
sarcastically  rejoins,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  him- 
self— 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  273 

"  If  we  except  the  Duke  of  Anjou  and  Admiral  Seymour." 

But  when  Essex,  warned  by  the  Queen's  anger 
that  he  had  gone  too  far,  threw  himself  at  her  feet 
and  implored  her  pardon ;  I,  while  assuming  all  the 
dignity  of  offended  majesty,  succeeded  in  conveying 
to  the  audience,  that  in  my  heart,  I  rejoiced  to  see 
these  transports  of  jealousy.  And  though  I  ex- 
claimed with  apparent  disdain — 

"  Dar'st  thou  then  to  love  thy  Queen?" 

I  allowed  him  to  seize  my  hand  and  endeavor  to 
imprint  a  kiss  upon  it.  But  I  snatched  my  hand 
away  with  an  angry  gesture  before  the  Earl  could 
accomplish  his  purpose ;  glancing  at  the  same  time 
with  secret  admiration  at  the  handsome  knight  still 
kneeling  before  me.  Love  and  pride  struggled  to- 
gether for  the  mastery  in  my  heart,  until  at  last  I 
felt  constrained  to  exclaim,  in  as  playful  a  manner  as 
I  could  assume — 

"  Well  I     Art  saying  thy  prayers  ?     Rise !  rise ! " 

While  speaking  these  words,  my  hand,  which  I  had 
extended  to  indicate  that  I  wished  him  to  rise, 
touched  for  an  instant  the  Earl's  bent  head.  Encour- 
aged by  this,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  seized  my  hand  in 
his,  and  covered  it  with  kisses.  Then  he  pressed  it 
to  his  heart,  exclaiming  in  passionate  accents — 

"Ah!     The  daughter  of  Henry  VIII.  has  pressed  my  hand." 

Upon  which,  disengaging  myself,  I  retreated,  and 
with  affected  modesty,  remarked  demurely — 

"  If  so,  it  was  unconsciously." 
But,  when  I  heard  him  murmur — 
18 


274  ADELAIDE  RISTORl. 

"  What  other  woman  could  I  love  after  having  once  seen 
Elizabeth," 

I  had  much  ado  to  hide  the  emotion  that  filled  my 
heart.  I  gazed  at  him  with  a  look,  which,  all  too 
plainly  betrayed  my  feelings  towards  him ;  and, 
after  some  slight  hesitation  I  drew  a  ring  from  my 
finger  and  offered  it  to  him  with  the  solemn  prom- 
ise— 

"If  thou  should'st  one  day  lose  thy  Sovereign's  favor  or  be 
guilty  of  any  crime,  send  me  this  ring,  and  I  pledge  thee  my 
Royal  word  thou  shalt  be  pardon' d." 

In  the  monologue  which  ends  this  scene,  the 
author  still  further  develops  and  elaborates  the  char- 
acter of  the  Queen.  But  when  love  appears  on  the 
point  of  mastering  her  indomitable  pride,  her  deter- 
mination to  retain  her  absolute  sovereignty  comes  to 
her  aid.  She  beats  down  the  tenderer  sentiments 
and  womanly  weakness  with  a  strong  hand.  Nay, 
she  can  even  mock  at  the  very  idea  of  yielding  to 
what  her  Parliament,  the  Puritans,  and  Lord  Weiit- 
worth  have  been  long  urging  her  to  do ;  namely, 
make  choice  of  a  husband. 

"What!"  [she  exclaims,  her  anger  rising  afresh  at  the 
thought]  "Divide  my  kingdom  with  another!  Be  no  longer 
the  sole  ruler  of  everybody  and  everything  !  " 

Her  haughty  spirit  regains  its  self-control,  and  she  is 
ashamed  of  having  been,  even  for  a  moment,  sur- 
prised into  feminine  weakness.  While  Elizabeth  is 
in  this  unpropitious  state  of  mind,  her  secretary 
Davison  enters,  bringing  a  letter  from  Mary  Stuart, 
as  well  as  her  death-warrant  for  the  Queen's  signature. 
Elizabeth  can  hardly  refrain  from  an  exclamation  of 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  275 

pleasure  at  this  unexpected  interruption ;  but  she 
tries  to  hide  it  by  hypocritically  assuming  a  mask  of 
pity.  She  glances  over  the  unhappy  prisoner's  letter 
with  ill-concealed  impatience,  and  gathering  from  it 
that  the  Queen  of  Scotland,  believing  her  son  James 
to  have  sided  with  her  enemies,  has  declared  the 
invincible  Philip  II.,  King  of  Spain,  her  successor  to 
the  throne,  she  is  seized  with  an  access  of  fury,  and 
cries  with  a  mocking  smile — 

"  I  will  undertake  to  execute  thy  will  for  thee,  and  will  send 
thee  to  the  angels !  " 

Most  cruel  words,  worthy  only  of  a  perverted  mind. 

In  the  scene  of  dissimulation  between  Elizabeth 
and  James  VI.,  who  has  come  to  entreat  her  to  spare 
his  mother's  life,  and  who  threatens  her  with  his 
vengeance  if  she  refuse  to  listen  to  his  prayers,  I 
endeavored,  by  the  stern  expression  of  my  eyes,  my 
set  lips,  and  my  rigid  figure,  to  convey  to  the  audi- 
ence some  idea  of  the  tempest  gathering  within  me. 
But  when  Davison  entered  and  announced  in  a  loud 
voice — 

"  Your  Majesty,  by  this  time  the  executioner  has  held  up  to 
the  crowd  the  head  of  Mary  Stuart !  " 

the  Storm  which  was  rising  in  my  breast  subsided  ;  in 
a  moment  a  complete  change  came  over  me,  an  in- 
voluntary cry  of  joy  escaped  me,  which  was  unnoticed 
in  the  general  consternation  caused  by  the  terrible 
news.  • 

In  an  instant  I  had  recovered  myself,  and  I  broke 
out  into  furious  invective  against  those  who  had  so 


2/6  ADELAIDE  KISTORI. 

hastily  carried  out  tlie  sentence,  and  at  the  same  time 
I  caused  my  face  to  assume  such  an  exaggerated  ex- 
pression of  grief  and  utter  consternation,  that  even 
James  himself  was  constrained  to  exclaim — 

"To  Heaven  I  leave   the  task  of  judging  if  this  be  real  or 
feigned ! " 

When  I  was  left  alone  with  my  courtiers,  I  con- 
tinued still  to  carry  on  the  hollow  mockery  of  grief. 
I  declared  this  terrible  event  had  decided  me  to  re- 
nounce the  throne  and  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  in 
penitence  within  the  walls  of  a  convent.  At  the 
unexpected  arrival  of  Francis  Drake,  my  thoughts 
instantly  turned  into  another  channel.  He  had  been 
sent  by  the  Queen  sometime  before  to  ravage  the 
Spanish  possessions  in  America,  and  endeavor  to  dis- 
cover the  designs  of  King  Philip,  but  his  prolonged 
absence  had  led  to  the  belief  that  he  must  either  have 
been  taken  prisoner  or  killed. 

My  face,  my  whole  person  underwent  an  instan- 
taneous and  total  change.  The  death  of  Mary  Stuart, 
my  hypocritical  intentions,  my  political  feigning,  all 
are  forgotten  in  the  feverish  anxiety  to  know  the 
result  of  the  mission  entrusted  to  Drake.  Sir  Fran- 
cis informed  me  that  a  "  mightier  fleet  than  the 
world  had  yet  seen,  had  already  been  gathered  to- 
gether by  Spain,  for  the  conquest  of  England  ;  that 
this  fleet  when  divided  into  two  squadrons  occupied 
a  space  of  seven  miles  from  one  extremity  to  the 
other ;  that  the  most  valiant  captains  in  the  world 
had  been  engaged  to  assist  the  Spaniards  in  their 
great  enterprise,  and  that,  in  certain   assurance  of 


QUEEN'  ELIZABETH.  '  2// 

victory,  the  name  of  the  Invmcible  Armada  had  been 
given  to  the  assembled  fleet." 

When  I  heard  this,  I  showed  that  I  could  restrain 
myself  no  longer.  With  flashing  eyes  and  like  a  fiery 
charger  pawing  the  ground  at  the  clang  of  the  trumpet, 
Elizabeth,  eager  for  glory,  and  anticipating  a  brilliant 
victory,  feels  the  blood  of  her  forefathers  thrill  in 
her  veins,  while  in  imagination  she  is  already  trans- 
ported to  the  field  of  battle.  "  At  last,  then,  I  have 
succeeded  !  "  she  cries  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  There- 
fore, when  Mendoza,  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  ap- 
peared in  my  presence,  and  with  proud  mien  and 
arrogant  tone,  declared  war  in  the  name  of  his  master, 
Philip  II.,  I  thanked  him  in  a  tone  of  disdain.  At 
once,  like  an  experienced  leader,  with  feverish  ardor, 
I  gave  the  necessary  orders  to  prepare  for  war,  and  I 
distributed  the  different  commands.  My  spirit  rose 
to  the  occasion.  Full  of  martial  enthusiasm,  I  assured 
my  lords  that — 

"  Yet  another  sword  will  fight  for  England !  " 

"  Which  ?  "  asked  the  Ambassador,  mockingly. 

"  That  of  Henry  VIII.," 

I  answered  proudly. 

» 

"  And  who  will  have  the  courage  to  wield  it  ?" 
he  inquired,  inexpressible  scorn  in  his  tones. 

"Who!  II" 

I  answered,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  spring- 
ing towards  the  trophy  of  Henry  VIII. 's  weapons 
which  decorated  the  hall  of  audience,  I  seized  the 


278  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

large  sword  my  father  had  once  used,  and  which  was 
once  more  to  assure  victory  to  England,  I  faced  round 
on  Mendoza  and  thundered  out  the  words — 

"Tell  Philip  that  Elizabeth  hurls  the  scabbard  far  from  her  I 
When  these  two  nations,  like  gigantic  athletes,  shall  meet  on 
the  ocean,  the  world  itself  will  tremble.  And  after  the  en- 
counter, one  of  the  two — like  the  stone  flung  by  a  child  into 
the  water — will  disappear  among  the  blood-stained  waves ; 
either  England  or  Spain — Elizabeth  or  Philip  1  I  swear  it  by 
the  King  my  father  1 " 

I  Stood  brandishing  the  sword  in  one  hand,  while 
I  laid  the  other  upon  it,  as  in  the  act  of  taking  an 
oath,  and  all  present  drawing  theirs  also,  and  touch- 
ing mine  with  the  points,  repeated  after  me — 

"  We  swear  it." 

The  curtain  falls  on  this  "  tableau." 

With  the  exception  of  two  historical  incidents,  the 
third  Act  does  not  contain  many  scenes  for  Elizabeth 
of  great  artistic  difficulty.  These  incidents  are  the 
discovery  of  a  plot  for  taking  her  life,  of  which  Mar- 
garet Lamburn  is  proved  to  be  the  chief  instigator, 
and  the  disgrace  and  punishment  of  Essex. 

In  the  first  of  these,  when  Margaret  is  brought  into 
my  presence,  i  assumed  a  stern  demeanor,  and  inter- 
rogated her  in  an  angry  voice,  as  though  I  had  already 
decided  to  condemn  her  to  death.  But  when  I  heard 
the  resolute  tone  in  which  she  answered  me — when 
she  boldly  told  me  that  she  had  sought  to  take  my 
life  in  revenge  for  the  death  of  Mary  Stuart,  her  be- 
loved mistress,  and  of  her  own  husband,  who  had 
died  of  grief  on  account  of  the  miserable  end  of  his 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  279 

Sovereign,  I  was  deeply  touched  by  her  words,  and 

asked  her  what  punishment  she  herself  would  con- 
sider her  strange  confession  deserved.     She  looked 
me  full  in  the  face,  and  answered  proudly,  that  I 
ought  to  pardon  her. 
I  cried  in  amazement — 

"  What !  pardon  thee  ;  and  what  surety  have  I  that  thou  wilt 
not  again  attempt  my  life." 

To  which  Margaret  answered — 

"  Madam,  a  boon  which  cannot  be  granted  without  so  many 
precautions  is  no  longer  a  favor,  take  thou  then  my  life." 

This  arrogant  speech,  this  temerity,  and  defiant  cour- 
age, the  like  of  which  Elizabeth  had  never  met  with  be- 
fore during  her  reign  from  any  mati,  still  less  from  any 
woman,  completely  staggered  her,  and,  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  she  yielded  to  a  sudden  impulse  of 
generosity,  and,  hastily,  as  though  fearful  she  might 
repent,  she  cried — 

"Go  !  get  thee  hence  in  peace  !  but  lose  no  time  !  " 

Throughout  this  scene,  I  considered  I  should  best 
express  the  author's  meaning,  if  I  strove,  by  the  into- 
nation of  my  voice  and  the  mobility  of  my  features  to 
emphasize  the  sudden  transition  from  severity,  to 
great  and  generous  impulse,  which  was  always  so 
characteristic  of  this  great  Queen. 

The  other  striking  situation  is  found  in  the  recep- 
tion Elizabeth  gives  to  the  three  conquerors  of  Cadiz, 
Lord  Howard,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  and  the  Earl  of 
Essex.  I  made  it  evident  that  I  was  animated  by  a 
desire  to  revenge  myself  upon  Essex,  whose  secret 


280  ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

passion  for  Lady  Sarah  I  had  discovered  ;  and  who 
had  exceeded  the  powers  conferred  upon  him,  openly 
defying  my  commands.  I  therefore  began  my  dis- 
course by  complimenting  all  three  warriors,  and 
thanking  them  in  my  own  name,  and  that  of  England, 
for  the  splendid  victory  they  had  just  gained  over  the 
Spanish  fleet.  I  created  Drake,  Lord  High  Admi- 
ral j  and  Howard,  Earl  of  Nottingham ;  but  when  I 
addressed  Essex,  who,  like  the  others,  knelt  expectant 
at  my  feet,  it  was  in  a  very  different  strain.  I  began 
by  praising  his  bravery  in  battle,  and  then,  in  a  soft 
and  insinuating  voice,  as  though  I  would  prepare 
him  to  receive  an  adequate  reward,  I  continued — 

"  We  admire  your  valor,  but  since  you  have  refused  obedience 
to  him,  whom  we  have  invested  with  supreme  power  over  our 
forces  by  land  and  sea,  and  have  rebelled  against  the  mandates 
of  your  Queen,  we  shall  defer  your  reward,  until  we  receive 
from  you  proofs  of  obedience  and  submission.     Rise  !  " 

I  spoke  these  words  in  an  austere,  harsh  voice,  as 
though  I  desired  each  syllable  to  penetrate,  like  a 
poniard,  into  the  heart  of  him  I  addressed,  humil- 
iating him  before  all  the  bystanders.  The  Earl 
remained  for  an  instant,  like  one  petrified;  then, 
quickly  recovering  himself,  he  burst  forth  in  no 
measured  tones  of  complaint  against  the  injustice 
done  him ;  ending  by  reproaching  me  bitterly  for 
having  distinguished  Lord  Howard,  who,  as  every 
one  knew,  had  won  the  battle  solely  because  a  furious 
tempest  had  risen  to  aid  him,  and  dashed  the  Spanish 
vessels  upon  the  rocks.  It  was  in  vain  I  tried  to 
silence  the  Earl.  He  continued  his  angry  recrimina- 
tions, and  gradually  increased  my  displeasure,  until 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  28 1 

on  hearing  him  boast  that  he  also  was  of  royal 
descent,  and  in  that  respect  my  equal,  my  indignation 
almost  got  the  better  of  me.  Still  I  managed  to 
restrain  it  sufficiently  to  interfere  between  the  two 
men,  when  Essex,  scarcely  knowing  what  he  did, 
challenged  Lord  Howard  to  meet  him  in  single 
combat, 

"  What !  " 

exclaimed  Essex  in  a  sarcastic  tone, 

"can  earls  and  dukes  no  longer  fight  in  England  without  the 
special  permission  of  the  Queen  ? " 

The  taunting  words  stung  me  to  fury.  I  lost  all 
control  over  myself,  and  flung  my  glove  in  the  speak- 
er's face.  He  in  his  turn,  completely  lost  his  head, 
and,  exasperated  by  the  insult  he  had  received,  deaf 
to  every  consideration  of  prudence,  and  totally  for- 
getting the  respect  he  owed  his  Sovereign,  broke 
out  into  violent  invective  against  her.  He  accuses 
her  of  having  blended  her  crown  with  the  coroftets  of 
dukes  and  earls.  a7id placed  the  Parliament  of  England 
on  a  level  with  the  Divan  of  Mahomet.,  of  having 
annulled  all  its  privileges ;  and,  as  though  this  were 
not  enough,  he  filled  up  the  measure  of  his  insults  to 
overflowing  by  calling  her  : 

"  The  Vestal  of  the  West,  who  has  more  than  once  let  the 
fire  die  out  on  the  tripod  of  Jove  1  " 

All  the  by-play  which  should  accompany  the  few 
words  I  have  to  speak  during  this  culminating  scene 
of  the  Act,  as  well  as  the  tone  of  voice,  are  clearly 
indicated  by  the  author,  and  it  cost  me  no  difficulty 


282  ADELAIDE  KISTOKI. 

to  understand  and  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  situation. 
I  was  always  most  careful  never  to  forget  that  I  was 
a  queen,  even  in  the  midst  of  my  fury,  and  that  this 
queen  was  Elizabeth  of  England. 

Between  the  third  and  fourth  Acts  several  years 
are  supposed  to  elapse,  during  which,  Essex,  after 
being  pardoned  his  egregious  folly,  regains  his  sov- 
ereign's favor  ;  "  and  is  sent  by  her  as  general  to 
Ireland,  invested  with  full  powers  to  repress  the 
tumults  and  revolts  constantly  arising  there.  But 
the  incapacity  of  the  new  commander-in-chief  soon 
became  manifest.  He  was  imprudent  enough  himself 
to  raise  the  standard  of  revolt  against  his  own  queen, 
with  the  result  that  he  was  speedily  arrested  and 
condemned  to  the  scaffold." 

It  is  at  this  point  of  the  story  that  the  fourth  Act 
begins.  Elizabeth  is  beginning  to  show  the  weight 
of  years.  The  grief  of  finding  herself  obliged  to 
adopt  stringent  measures  against  the  man  so  dear  to 
her ;  the  only  man  in  fact  she  ever  loved,  has  greatly 
conduced  to  break  her  haughty  spirit.  I  therefore 
endeavored  to  show  in  my  person  and  make-up  the 
physical  effects  of  age.  (The  queen  is  about  sixty- 
eight  at  this  time.)  Yet,  in  spite  of  her  bowed  figure 
and  wrinkled  face,  I  rendered  it  evident  that  she 
still  possessed  the  remains  of  that  magnificent  consti- 
tution and  indomitable  will  which  she  never  entirely 
lost  until  after  the  death  of  her  favorite. 

The  fourth  Act  opens  with  the  signature  of  Lord 
Essex's  death  warrant.  Seeing  that  Lady  Burleigh, 
who  was  in  attendance  at  the  time,  was  alarmed  at 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  283 

the  agitation  Elizabeth  betrayed,  and  feared  it  was 
caused  by  illness,  I  endeavored  to  reassure  her  and 
conceal  its  real  origin  by  remarking : — 

"Thou  art  already  aware,  Anna,  that  when  I  have  to  con- 
demn any  one  to  death,  I  suffer  cruel  and  unspeakable  agonies." 

But  in  spite  of  myself,  the  bitter  truth  at  last 
escaped  my  lips.  I  betrayed  that  I  was  suffering  so 
intensely  because  I  feared  lest,  either  through  pride 
or  obstinacy,  Essex  might  not  send  me  the  ring  I  had 
once,  in  a  moment  of  tenderness,  given  to  him;  with 
a  promise  of  pardon  whenever  it  should  be  presented 
to  me.  Lady  Burleigh  tried  to  comfort  me  by  saying 
that  doubtless  the  Earl  was  too  sensible  of  his  fault 
and  too  fearful  of  further  irritating  his  sovereign  to 
venture  on  claiming  her  promise.  Then  she  offered 
to  go  herself  to  the  Tower,  as  though  entirely  on  her 
own  impulse,  and  advise  Essex  to  confide  himself  to 
the  clemency  and  magnanimity  of  the  Queen.  Un- 
seen by  Lady  Burleigh,  I  showed  the  audience  what 
a  relief  this  proposal  was  to  me  ;  but,  fearing  that  my 
dignity  as  a  Sovereign  must  suffer  if  I  yielded  to  the 
impulse  of  my  heart,  I  harshly,  though  with  evident 
efifort,  forbade  Lady  Burleigh  to  carry  out  her  sugges- 
tion, saying : 

"  Anna — stay !  If  he  be  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  let  him  go  to 
him ! " 

At  this  moment,  Burleigh  entering  with  the  death- 
warrant  of  Lord  Essex  for  the  royal  signature,  Eliza' 
beth  cannot  entirely  suppress  the  painful  emotion 
which  overcomes  her  in  spite  of  herself.  She  orders 
all  her  attendants  to  retire,  and  at  the  same  time 


284  ADELAIDE  KISTOKI. 

tells  Burleigh  to  send  her  Davison,  the  Keeper  of  the 
Seals. 

When  alone  and  able  to  give  full  vent  to  the  emo- 
tions that  possessed  me,  with  long  and  deep-drawn 
sighs,  I  spread  out  the  fatal  parchment  on  the  table, 
gazing  at  it  long  and  sadly,  as  though  incredulous 
that  only  my  signature  was  needed  to  send  the  one 
man  I  had  ever  truly  loved  to  his  death.  I  let  the 
audience  see  the  conflict  that  was  raging  within  me. 
I  tried  to  reassure  myself  and  overcome  my  womanly 
weakness  by  dwelling  on  the  fact  that  this  man's  ex- 
ecution was  necessary  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 
justice. 

"  Yes  !  he  must  die,"  [I  murmured,] 
"as  so  many  other  conspirators  have  died, — Suffolk,  Parry, 
Babington,  Lopez, — as  even  a  Queen  of  Scotland  has  died." 

and  at  each  broken  sentence,  I  made  a  movement  as 
though  to  dip  my  pen  in  the  ink,  and  sign  the  fatal 
parchment,  but  I  could  not  consummate  the  terrible 
deed.  I  tried  to  fortify  myself  with  specious  argu- 
ment; 

"  Were  I  to  pardon  him,  it  would  be  but  to  confess  my  own 
weakness !     I,  weak !     Never !  " 

and  again  I  seized  the  pen  and  essayed  to  write  the 
signature.  But  my  courage  once  more  abandoned 
me,  and  with  a  gesture  of  petulant  anger  at  my  own 
weakness,  I  dashed  the  pen  to  the  ground.  Then, 
for  a  moment,  a  strange  hope  arose  in  my  agonized 
heart. 

"  But  if,  in  the  face  of  death,  [I  murmured,]  the  Earl's  pride 
have  deserted  him !  If,  even  now,  he  have  intrusted  the  ring 
to  some  one  I     If ! " 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  285 

Animated  by  the  half-uttered  thought,  I  vehemently 
rang  the  bell,  and  inquired  whether  any  message  had 
come  for  me  from  the  Tower.  Vain  hope  1  None 
had  been  received,  and  exhausted,  I  sank  again  on 
my  seat,  exclaiming  in  my  despair: 

"  Ah  I  pride,  pride  !  To  die  thus  with  his  life  in  his  own  hands."  * 

Then  I  began  to  complain  bitterly  to  myself  of 
Lady  Burleigh's  conduct.  She  ought  to  have  under- 
stood that  for  the  first  time  in  my  long  reign  I  had 
wished  to  be  disobeyed.  In  spite  of  my  prohibition, 
I  should  have  rejoiced  if  she  had  gone  to  the  Tower. 
It  was  in  vain  I  tried  to  convince  myself  that  Essex 
was  a  rebel,  and  as  such  deserving  of  punishment. 
Then  the  apprehension  of  committing  an  injustice 
made  me  hesitate  again.  Remorse  began  to  torture 
me.  I  tossed  hither  and  thither  on  the  waves  of  con- 
science. My  imagination  was  so  excited  that  1  even 
fancied  I  saw  the  spectre  of  Mary  Stuart  standing 

*  The  author  of  the  drama  introduces  this  historical  incident 
to  show  what  an  important  part  this  ring  played  in  the  death  of 
the  Earl,  and  how,  in  a  secondary  degree,  it  also  accelerated  the 
death  of  Elizabeth.  Lally  Tollendal  has  left  it  on  record  :  "  He 
(the  Earl)  lost  his  head  on  the  scaffold,  and  the  grief  the  Queen 
felt  at  being  obliged  to  use  such  severity  towards  a  man  who 
had  been  so  dear  to  her,  plunged  her  in  a  profound  melancholy. 
Two  years  afterwards,  when  Lady  Nottingham  confessed  on  her 
death-bed  that  the  ring  had  been  intrusted  to  her  care,  but  that, 
overpersuaded  by  her  husband,  she  had  refrained  from  deliver- 
ing it  to  the  Queen,  Elizabeth  lost  all  control  over  herself,  ex- 
claiming, '  God  may  forgive  you ;  I  never  can  1 '  Henceforth 
she  refused  food  and  remedies  for  her  sickness,  saying  they 
were  no  use  to  a  dying  woman." 


286  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

before  me  in  full  noonday,  just  as  she  had  stood 
every  night  since  her  execution  to  trouble  my  dreams, 
and  make  me  start  in  terror  from  my  bed.  Return- 
ing to  myself  I  blushed  at  my  childish  folly,  and  in  the 
height  of  indignation  and  disappointment  at  not 
seeing  the  much-wished-for  ring  brought  me — with 
the  whole  energy  of  my  virile  soul  and  my  despised 
love — I  thought  of  nothing  more  than  the  reasons  of 
state,  and  the  dignity  of  the  crown,  and  sanctioned 
the  decision  of  the  judges.  So  once  more  1  seized 
the  pen,  and  hurriedly  traced  the  fatal  signature. 
My  heart  was  utterly  broken.  Davison,  sent  by 
Lord  Burleigh,  entered  at  this  moment  to  receive  the 
warrant.  His  appearance  startled  me  painfully,  but 
I  made  a  successful  attempt  to  hide  from  him  the 
misery  I  knew  was  written  on  my  tell-tale  face,  and 
feeling  I  must  bravely  endure  the  sacrifice  imposed 
on  me  by  duty,  I  took  up  the  parchment,  and  slowly, 
with  a  trembling  hand,  held  it  out  towards  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals.  But  as  if  grasping  it  a  little 
longer  in  my  hand  seemed  to  me  to  add  a  few 
minutes  to  the  life  of  Essex,  I  caused  Davison,  al- 
though humbly,  to  try  and  draw  it  by  gentle  force 
from  my  convulsive  hold.  Then  he  moved  towards 
the  door;  but  a  sudden  impulse  of  feeling  made  me 
call  him  back  in  suppressed  tones.  He  turned,  as  if 
expecting  some  further  orders ;  but,  recalled  to  a 
sense  of  my  own  dignity,  I  merely  told  him,  in  as 
haughty  a  tone  as  I  could  assume,  to  be  quick  and 
see  the  sentence  carried  out. 

When  he  was  gone,  and  I  was  once  more  alone  I 
gave  free  vent  to  my  grief,  bitterly  accusing  Essex  of 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  28/ 

being  the  cause  of  all  my  misery.  The  appearance 
of  the  Countess  of  Nottingham,  who  arrived  breath- 
less to  implore  pardon  for  the  Earl,  only  excited  me 
to  greater  fury,  for  in  her  I  believed  I  saw  my  rival. 
On  hearing  that  her  husband  had  forcibly  taken  from 
her  the  ring,  confided  to  her  by  Essex  that  she  might 
give  it  to  me,  I  at  first  showed  disbelief  in  her  asser- 
tion, yet  on  her  swearing  by  the  soul  of  her  mother 
that  her  statement  was  true,  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
convinced.  In  the  deepest  agitation,  I  sent  a  page 
with  orders  that  a  messenger,  mounted  on  my  fleetest 
horse,  should  ride  for  his  life  to  the  Tower,  and 
intercept  Davison  before  it  was  too  late.  I  directed 
that  the  warrant  should  be  torn  into  a  thousand 
pieces,  and  promised  a  patent  of  nobility  to  whoever 
should  succeed  in  carrying  out  my  wishes. 

But  before  my  messenger  could  well  have  started, 
Lord  Burleigh  entered,  followed  by  Bacon.  They 
came  to  announce,  with  mournful  looks,  that  the  sen- 
tence was  already  executed.  For  an  instant  I  stood 
as  though  petrified  at  their  news  ;  then  I  dropped  into 
a  chair,  moaning  in  low  tones — 

"  Dead !     Dead  1  " 

In  a  little  while,  however,  I  rose,  and  with  blood- 
shot eyes  and  trembling  lips,  began  the  magnificent 
passage  which  Giacometti  puts  into  Elizabeth's  mouth 
at  the  close  of  this  Act : 
"  Dead  !    But  before  sunset  the  fatal  bell  shall  toll  once  more," 

(alluding  to  the  death  of  Nottingham,  which  she 
meditated.)  Pacing  the  stage  in  gathering  excite- 
ment, I  cried  furiously — 


288  ADELAIDE   KISTORI. 

"  I  must  have  within  my  hands  the  Earl  of  Nottingham's  head  I  " 
Then,  with  a  burst  of  desperate  grief  : 

"  My  Robert  is  no  more  !  The  only  man  I  ever  really  loved, 
and  I  have  killed  him  !  No  one  said  a  single  word  to  appease 
my  wrath ;  they  all  hated  him,  and  yet  not  one  of  them  was 
worthy  to  kiss  the  dust  raised  by  his  charger's  hoof  on  a  day  of 
battle  1  " 

At  this  moment  I  became  aware  of  the  presence  of 
Bacon,  who  was  standing  somewhat  aside.  I  ordered 
him  to  come  forward,  and  poured  forth  my  wrath 
upon  him,  crying : 

"  And  thou,  base  wretch,  thou  wast  a  nothing  ;  and  if  thou  art 
something,  to  him  alone  thou  ovvest  it.  To  him  thou  owest  the 
honors  I  have  heaped  on  thee  !  He  who  generously  freed  thee 
from  the  shame  of  thy  debts  might  have  counted  on  thee  for 
his  defence,  and  thou  hast  failed  him  !  It  was  thy  sacred  duty 
to  contend  for  his  life  with  me — ay,  even  with  me.  Thou  should 
have  pointed  out  to  me  Ireland  subjugated,  Cadiz  in  flames  I 
Thou  shouldst  have  torn  open  his  cuirass,  counted  out  one  by 
one  his  wounds,  and  offered  them  to  me  as  a  ransom  for  his 
life !  And  thou,  on  the  contrary,  infamous  wretch,  hast  pre- 
ferred to  guide  the  hand  of  his  judges  when  they  drew  up  the 
sentence,  and  mine  when  I  signed  it.  Cursed  be  thou  !  May 
Cain's  curse  light  on  thee  !  " 

The  attendants  drew  near  to  calm  my  fury. 

"  Let  all  retire  :  I  do  command  it  I  " 

I  cried  in  imperious  tones.  But  when  they  obeyed 
me  and  I  was  left  alone,  I — crushed  with  grief,  shaken 
by  such  tremendous  emotions,  and  not  daring  to  lift 
my  eyes  to  that  Heaven  whose  wrath  I  dreaded 
— cast  myself,  face  downwards,  upon  the  ground, 
moaning  : 

"  Here  let  me  stay,  alone  !  Surrounded  by  a  pool  of  blood — 
alone  with  my  remorse — and  with  God  !  " 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  289 

Thus  closes  the  fourth  Act. 

In  the  fifth  Act,  Elizabeth  is  approaching  her  end, 
and,  according  to  history,  although  prostrated  by 
failing  strength,  still  her  iron  temperament  manifested 
itself  prodigiously  at  times,  and  the  fire  which  circu- 
lated in  her  veins  during  her  past  years  still  sent  forth 
a  few  sparks.  Thus,  when  I  came  before  the  audi- 
ence, I  let  them  plainly  see  in  my  face  and  figure  the 
ravages  that  time  and  disease  had  made.  Yet  I 
strove  carefully  to  hide  from  my  courtiers  how  much 
I  was  suffering.  I  entered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
Burleigh — a  bowed  and  decrepit  old  woman — still 
wearing,  however,  the  robes  and  crown  of  State  in 
which  I  had  been  present  at  the  opening  of  Parlia- 
ment. I  tried,  by  my  manner,  to  give  the  audience 
an  impression  of  some  one  in  the  greatest  nervous 
agitation,  which  had  been  caused  by  the  excitement 
of  the  debate  I  had  just  been  hearing  ;  but  as  I  re- 
lated the  details  to  my  attendants  I  manifested  a 
clearness  of  intellect  and  strength  of  will,  well  calcu- 
lated to  surprise  and  deceive  those  who  were  listen- 
ing to  me.  The  careless  arrangement  of  my  hair, 
however,  the  wrinkles  and  furrows  on  my  face,  the 
slow  movement  of  my  hands,  very  plainly  showed 
the  audience  that  some  secret  sorrow  had  aged  me, 
even  more  than  the  weight  of  years.  Burleigh  begged 
me  to  sit  down  and  take  some  needful  rest.  I  re- 
pulsed him,  angrily  exclaiming  : 

"No,  no — motion  is  life.     I  have  had  too  much  rest  of  late. 
I  thought  I  should  have  been  stifled  in  my  litter  !  " 

In  truth,  a  strong  impression  had  been  produced 

19 


290  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

on  my  mind  by  the  fact  that  when  I  returned  to  the 
Palace  from  the  House  of  Parliament,  far  fewer  per- 
sons than  usual  had  assembled  outside  to  give  me 
greeting.  Yet  I  was  resolute  not  to  let  my  faithful 
minister  guess  what  a  blow  the  apathy  of  my  subjects 
had  been  to  me.  So  I  assumed  a  careless,  indiffer- 
ent air,  which  was  anything  but  a  true  index  to  my 
feelings,  and,  with  a  scrutinizing  look  at  Burleigh, 
said : 

"  Tell  me,  hast  thou  ordained  that  our  loving  subjects  should 
not  congregate  too  densely  on  our  way,  and  should  not  greet  us 
with  shouts  ? " 

When  Burleigh  replied  in  the  negativ^e  I  frowned, 
unperceived  by  him,  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  Then 
I  remarked,  with  well-acted  hypocrisy  : 

"  No !  as  I  know  that  you,  my  good  old  Burleigh,  deem  me 
in  ill-health,  and  might  have  thought  the  sight  of  people  crowd- 
ing on  my  passage  would  tire  me.  But  I  am  not  so ;  and,  if  I 
have  been,  7iow  I  am  cured." 

And  in  proof  thereof  I  began  to  recount,  with  con- 
siderable vivacity,  how  the  Parliament  had  been 
defeated  in  its  attempt  to  curtail  the  royal  preroga- 
tive. 

I  said  all  this  with  almost  childish  glee,  adding  : 

"  Well,  what  think  you,  my  Lords  !  " 

in  a  tone  of  such  entire  satisfaction,  that  Burleigh, 
who  was  before  all  things  a  courtier,  hastened  to  ap- 
plaud my  argument.  Then  I  addressed  Bacon,  and 
ordered  him  to  inform  William  Shakespeare  that  it 
was  my  good  pleasure  he  should  give  another  repre- 
sentation  of  Hcn7-\    VI IT.   ^because  I  delisrhted  to 


Q  UEEN  EL  IZA  BE  TIL  29 1 

see  myself  figure  in  the  play  as  an  infant  in  my 
nurses'  arms).  I  further  gave  orders  for  the  prepara- 
tion of  a  grand  fete.  Then  I  seated  myself,  and 
asked  for  news.  I  was  told  that  it  appeared  certain 
that  formidable  Irish  chief,  the  Earl  of  Tyrone,  was 
safe  under  arrest ;  whereupon  I  exclaimed  gayly  to 
Burleigh  : 

"  Aha !  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  brushed  away  many  flies 
from  the  Crown  of  England  !  " 

Burleigh  seized  the  opportunity  to  say — 

"  Of  a  surety,  your  successor  will  receive  it  brilliant  and 
respected." 

On  hearing  these  words,  I  drew  myself  up,  and  gazed 
long  and  searchingly  at  him,  for  I  had  suspected  for 
some  time  past  he  might  be  carrying  on  a  secret  cor- 
respondence with  James  VI.  Burleigh,  guessing 
what  was  in  the  Queen's  mind,  endeavored  to  explain 
away  his  words  by  observing — 

"  Before  I  die,  I  should  like  to  see  the  succession  determined 
on." 

I  affected  to  accept  this  plausible  explanation,  and, 
anxious  to  put  an  end  to  the  farce,  I  replied — 

"  Let  us  hear  now  on  whom  this  sagacious  choice  of  thine 
falls ! " 

"On  whom  could  it  fall  more  appropriately  than  on  the 
young  King  of  Scotland," 

Burleigh  answered  diplomatically.  At  this  reply  my 
suppressed  anger  blazed  forth,  and  I  seized  him  by 
the  arm,  crying — 

"  Traitor !  I  awaited  thee  there  I  " 
Burleigh. — "Burleigh  traitor?" 


292  ADELAIDE  RISTORI. 

Elizabeth. — "  Yes  !  for  thou  hast  a  secret  correspondence 
with  James." 

Burleigh. — "  No ;  but  he  alone,  methinks,  has  it  in  his 
power  to  save  England  from  civil  war." 

•'  Such  too  is  my  humble  opinion," 

added  Davison. 

I  turned  upon  them  both  with  righteous  indigna- 
tion— 

"Civil  war!  Eternal  civil  war!  this  is  the  phantasm  with 
which  ye  compelled  me  to  condemn  to  death,  Suffolk,  Babing- 
ton,  Mary,  and  Robert  of  Essex  !  " 

But  at  mention  of  the  last  dear  name,  I  broke 
down  utterly,  grief  almost  suffocated  me.  My  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and,  unable  longer  to  refrain  from 
weeping,  I  repeated  the  name  of  Robert  amid  my 
broken  sobs.  The  by-standers  hastened  to  me,  im- 
ploring me  to  be  calm,  but  their  entreaties  only  made 
my  anger  blaze  up  once  more,  and  I  ordered  them  to 
leave  me  in  peremptory  tones,  for  their  anxiety  to 
console  me  increased  my  agitation.  Exhausted  with 
grief  and  physical  sufferings,  I  had  some  difficulty  in 
calming  my  irritation. 

After  a  slight  pause,  having  made  certain  that 
every  one  had  left ;  no  longer  obliged  to  dissemble, 
body  and  mind  appeared  in  all  their  sad  reality — 
worn  out.  The  remembrance  that  the  death  of  Essex 
had  been  my  own  doing,  gnaws  my  heart,  remorse 
tears  my  soul,  and,  longing  to  throw  myself  on  my 
couch,  I  dragged  myself  towards  it  with  the  greatest 
difficulty.  As  I  staggered  along  with  bent  body,  and 
bowed  head,  I  lifted  my  trembling  hands  to  my 
aching  brow,  and  felt  the  crown  which  still  rested 
there. 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  293 

"  Ah  !  a  heavy  weight  is  on  it," 

I  moaned,  with  a  weary  air, 

"And  yet  for  forty-four  years  I  have  worn  it,  and  it  seemed 
so  light  to  me." 

I  lifted  it  slowly  from  my  head,  and  gazed  at  it  with 
deep  emotion. 

"  Who  will  wear  it  after  me .'' " 

I  questioned  myself,  then,  pushing  it  suddenly  away 
from  me,  I  added  in  a  haughty  tone — 

"  I  wish  not  to  know." 

But  the  springs  of  memory  had  been  unloosed.  I 
returned,  in  thought,  once  more  to  the  years  of  my 
vanished  glory,  and  began,  in  a  voice  that  grew 
gradually  weaker  and  weaker,  bitterly  to  bewail  the 
past. 

"  No  one  loves  me  now — no  one  tells  me  I  ride  like  Alexan- 
der, walk  like  Venus,  sing  and  play  like  Orpheus.  No !  When 
I  present  myself  to  the  public,  they  no  longer  greet  me  with 
cheers.  This  morning  one  would  have  thought  that  my  litter 
M'as  a  bier.  Am  I  then  so  very  old.'  Certes,  I  have  seen 
many  fears  pass  away,  but  they  have  left  no  trace  on  me.  Not 
a  thread  of  silver  mingles  with  my  beautiful  golden  hair." 

I  smoothed  my  auburn  locks  with  girlish  self- 
complacency,  and  then,  with  an  expressive  gesture,  I 
made  the  audience  perceive  that  I  wanted  to  assure 
myself  of  the  truth  of  my  words.  I  turned  to  the 
mirror  that  hung  near,  but  scarcely  had  I  seen  my- 
self reflected  in  it  than  I  shrank  away  in  disgust, 
perceiving  the  deep  lines  that  furrowed  my  face,  my 
dimmed  eyes,  my  livid  hollow  cheeks.  My  breathing 
became  labored,  my  eyes  dark,  my  mind  confused  ; 


J94 


ADELAIDE  R I  STORE 


in  terror  I  screamed  for  help.  But  a  momentary 
return  of  pride  made  me  hastily  stuff  my  handker- 
chief into  my  mouth  to  stifle  my  cries.  These  suffer- 
ings increasing,  my  mind  began  to  wander.  All 
around  me  grew  dark,  out  of  the  blackness  I  seemed 
to  see  pale  shadows  and  bleeding  spectres  coming 
toward  me.  They  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  they 
almost  touched  me.  Severed  heads  seemed  rolling 
about  my  feet.  To  escape  them  1  curled  myself  up 
in  a  corner  of  my  couch,  and,  sinking  down  helplessly 
among  my  pillows,  I  clasped  my  hands  together,  with 
inarticulate  appeals  to  Heaven  for  mercy. 

After  a  long  time  my  senses  seemed  to  return. 
Without  opening  my  eyes  I  feebly  called  to  Burleigh 
to  come  and  help  me.  Hastening  at  the  Queen's 
cries,  he  comes  to  her,  followed  by  James  VI.,  who 
had  been  waiting  in  the  anteroom ;  he  helps  her  to 
rise  without  her  recognizing  him.  Soon,  standing 
up,  I  perceive  James ;  terrified,  I  call  my  guards 
with  loud  cries.  All  rush  in  and  surround  me. 
Gasping,  in  vain  efforts  to  speak,  I  point  inquiringly 
at  James.     Burleigh  explained  : 

"The  King  of  Scotland  has  journeyed  to  London  to  inquire 
for  Your  Majesty's  health !  " 

"But,"  [I  cried]  "why  bears  he  in  his  hand  his  mother's 
head  'i  What  will  he  do  with  it  ?  Perchance  dash  it  in  my 
face !     Look !     Look !  " 

At  these  words,  James  approached  me  to  show  me 
he  had  nothing  in  his  hands.  I,  alarmed,  shrieking, 
take  refuge  in  the  arms  of  my  faithful  friends,  cover- 
ing my  face  with  both  hands,  as  if  to  repel  contact 
with  Mar}''s  head.     The  reassurances  of  my  courtiers, 


QUEEN  ELIZABETH.  295 

as  well  as  of  James  VI.  himself,  calm  me.  Veiling 
my  eyes  with  my  hands,  and  with  fearful  hesitation, 
I  looked  through  my  fingers  to  see  if  James  was  not 
lying. 

By  degrees  I  took  heart ;  I  breathed  more  freely. 
A  smile  flitted  across  my  pale  lips  ;  telling  them  all 
that  it  had  been  only  a  dream,  I  finished,  saying : 
"  I  am  better  !     I  am  better." 

At  this  point,  Drake  returned  from  his  mission  in 
Ireland.  He  announced  the  arrest  of  the  dreaded 
Earl  of  Tyrone  and,  notwithstanding  her  physical 
weakness,  and  the  terrible  emotion  through  which 
she  had  just  passed,  Elizabeth  uttered  a  cry  of  joy 
at  the  news.  Her  indomitable  spirit  blazed  up  once 
more.  She  was  still  sufficiently  her  old  self  to  re- 
joice at  the  humiliation  of  one  who  had  sought  to  rob 
her  of  her  throne.  She  ordered  Tyrone  to  instant 
execution,  when  Drake  hastened  to  remind  her  that 
she  would  not  probably  have  had  her  formidable 
enemy  in  her  power  had  he  not  given  himself  up  to 
justice,  trusting  in  the  clemency  and  magnanimity 
of  the  Queen.  Touched  by  his  words,  and  with  a 
sudden  impulse  of  generosity,  I  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  consulting  Burleigh  with  a  significant  look. 
He  responded  by  a  sign  that  I  ought  to  pardon  my 
prisoner.     So  I  said  to  Drake,  with  great  dignity  : — 

'"Tis  well !  Whoever  has  deemed  me  great  shall  ne'er  have 
cause  to  think  me  less  than  my  fame.     He  is  pardoned." 

But  the  Queen's  last  moments  were  drawing  near. 
Her  malady  increased,  her  strength  failed  rapidly; 
Burleigfh  and  his  wife  led  her  tottering  back  to  her 


296  ADELAIDE  RISTORL 

couch,  place  her  upon  it  in  an  extremity  of  weakness. 
P>Iizabeth,  feeling  herself  dying,  consented  at  last  to 
name  her  successor. 

I  gave  James  to  understand,  by  a  look,  that  my 
choice  perforce  fell  upon  him,  and  motioned  him  to 
kneel  before  me.  Lady  Burleigh  handed  me  the 
crown,  and  with  trembling  fingers  I  was  about  to 
place  it  on  his  head,  saying,  unwillingly  and  with 
difficulty, 

"  James,  kneel !     I  crown  thee  King !  " 

But  I  spoke  the  words  with  a  visible  effort,  as  though 
they  were  rent  from  my  inmost  heart.  The  crowd, 
gathering  outside  the  palace,  at  a  sign  made  by 
Davison  from  the  balcony,  set  up  a  great  shout  of  : — 
"  Long  live  James- 1.,  King  of  England  !  " 

Their  acclamations,  however,  irritated  me  almost 
past  endurance.  I  cried  in  my  pain  and  anger  that 
my  subjects  were  fickle  and  ungrateful.  I  tore  the 
crown  from  James's  head,  and,  placing  it  once  more 
upon  my  own,  held  it  there  firmly  with  both  hands, 
while  I  shrieked  : — 

"  Ungrateful  people,  I  yet  live!" 

But  this  supreme  effort  exhausted  my  small  re- 
maining strength.  I  sank  back  once  more  on  my 
couch  with  the  death-rattle  in  my  throat,  and  with  my 
last  conscious  breath  committed  to  my  successor's 
keeping 

"The  Bible  and  my  father's  sword." 

Then  began  the  final  agony,  rendered  all  the  more 
terrible  by  my  ever-present  remembrance  of  the  un- 


Q  UEEX  EL  IZA  BETH.  297 

fortunate  Essex.  I  fancied  I  saw  him  stand  before 
me.  I  stretched  out  my  arms  towards  him,  as  though 
beseeching  him  to  come  and  give  me  the  kiss  of  for- 
giveness ;  and  after  a  brief  struggle  with  death  I  sank 
to  rest,  and  lay  with  glazed  eyes,  surrounded  by  my 
courtiers,  who  in  awe-struck  tones  pronounced  the 
words  : — 

"  She  is  dead !     Dead  !  " 

Behold  how  I  have  endeavored  to  interpret  this 
masterpiece  of  the  lamented  Giacometti.  I  have 
studied,  as  aforesaid,  within  the  rigorous  limits  of 
history,  that  extraordinary  character  of  a  woman  and 
a  Queen. 

For  myself,  the  "last  scenes,  which  are,  one  may 
say,  the  epic  of  the  drama,  I  went  on  developing  with 
firmness  the  conviction  that  all  the  bitterness  of  those 
transitions,  from  dejection  to  energy,  were  the  pre- 
lude of  a  very  bitter  adieu  to  a  long  past  of  power  ; 
and  all  that  I  have  studied  to  interpret  and  make 
understood  is  a  recapitulation  of  the  fascination 
slowly  extinguishing  itself  and  of  the  remorse  in- 
creasing to  gigantic  proportions  as  death  was  draw- 
ing nigh. 

THE    END. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers   Publications. 

famous  JlDomcn  ^crie^, 

MADAME    DE   STAEL. 

By  BELLA   DUFFY. 
One  Volume.     i6itio.     Cloth.     Price,  $i.oo. 


It  is  a  brilliant  subject,  and  handled  in  a  brilliant  as  well  as  an  intelligent 
manner.  —  The  hidependent. 

The  biography  of  tliis  remarkable  woman  is  written  in  a  spirit  of  candor  and 
fairness  that  will  at  once  commend  it  to  the  attention  of  those  who  are  seeking 
the  truth.  The  author  is  not  so  much  in  love  with  her  subject  as  to  lose  sight  of 
her  faults;  nor  is  she  so  blind  to  Madame  de  Stael's  merits  as  to  place  confi- 
dence in  the  many  cruel  things  that  have  been  said  of  her  by  her  enemies. 
The  review  of  Madame  de  Stael's  works,  which  closes  this  volume,  exhibits 
rare  critical  insight ;  and  the  abstract  of  "  Corinne "  here  given  will  be  wel- 
comed by  those  who  have  never  had  the  patience  to  wade  through  this  long 
but  celebrated  classic,  which  combines  somewhat  incongruously  the  qualities  of  a 
novel  and  an  Italian  guide-book.  In  answering  the  question.  Why  was  not  Ma- 
dame de  Stael  a  greater  writer?  her- biographer  admirably  condenses  a  great  deal 
of  analytical  comment  into  a  very  brief  space.  Madame  de  Stael  was  undoubtedly 
the  most  celebrated  woman  of  her  tmie,  and  this  fact  is  never  lost  sight  of  in  this 
carefully  written  record  of  her  life.  —  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

It  treats  of  one  of  the  most  fascinating  and  remarkable  women  of  history.  The 
name  of  Madame  de  Stael  is  invested  with  every  charm  that  brilliance  of  intellect, 
romance,  and  magnetic  power  to  fascinate  and  compel  the  admiration  of  men  can 
bestow.  Not  beautiful  herself,  she  wielded  a  power  which  the  most  beautiful 
women  envied  her  and  could  not  rival.  The  story  of  her  life  should  read  like  a 
novel,  and  is  one  of  the  best  in  this  series  of  interesting  books  published  by 
Roberts  Brothers,  Boston.  —  Chicago  Journal. 

We  have  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  to  thank  for  issuing  a  series  of  biographies 
upon  which  entire  dependence  may  be  placed,  the  volumes  in  the  "  Famous  Wom- 
en Series"  being  thus  far  invariably  trustworthy  and  enjoyable.  Certainly  the 
life  of  Madame  de  Stael,  which  Miss  Bella  Duffy  has  just  written  for  it,  is  as  good 
as  the  best  of  its  predecessors  ;  of  each  of  which,  according  to  our  reasoning,  the 
same  thing  might  appropriately  be  said.  Miss  Duffy  has  little  to  tell  of  her  sub- 
ject that  has  not  already  been  told  in  longer  biographies,  it  ^  true  ;  but  from  a 
great  variety  of  sources  she  has  extracted  enough  material  to  make  an  excellent 
study  of  the  great  Frenchwoman  in  a  small  space,  which  has  never  been  done 
before  successfully,  so  far  as  we  know.  Considering  the  size  of  the  book,  one 
marvels  at  the  completeness  of  the  picture  the  author  presents,  not  only  of  Ma- 
dame de  Stael  herself,  but  of  her  friends,  and  of  the  stirring  times  in  which  she 
lived  and  which  so  deeply  colored  her  whole  life.  Miss  Duffy,  though  disposed 
to  look  at  her  faults  rather  leniently,  is  by  no  means  forgetful  of  them  ;  she  simply 
does  her  all  the  justice  that  the  facts  in  the  case  warrant,  which  is  perhaps  more 
than  readers  of  the  longer  biographies  before  referred  to  expect.  At  the  end  of 
the  volume  is  a  chapter  devoted  to  the  writings  of  Madame  de  .Stael,  which  is  so 
admirable  a  bit  of  literary  criticism  that  we  advise  the  purchase  of  the  book  if  only 
for  its  sake.  —  Tlie  Capital,  IVashington. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
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Jl/css/s.  Rol'crfs  BrolJurs'  Publications. 

jfnnioiisf  iDomcu  ^cric^, 

SUSANNA   WESLEY. 

By  ELIZA   CLARKE. 

ONE    VOLUME.      l6mo.      CLOTH.      PRICE,    $1.00. 


The  "  Famous  Women  Series,"  published  at  a  dollar  the  volume  by  Roberts 
Brothers,  now  comprises  George  Eliot,  Emily  Bronte,  George  Sand,  Mary  Lamb, 
Margaret  Fuller,  INIaria  Edgeworth,  Elizabeth  Fry,  the  Countess  of  Albany,  Mary 
WoUstonecraft,  Harriet  Martineau,  Rachel,  Madame  Roland,  and  Susanna  Wes- 
ley. The  next  volume  will  be  Madame  de  Sta'el.  The  world  has  not  gone  into 
any  ecstasies  over  these  volumes.  They  are  not  discussed  in  the  theatre  or  hotel 
lobbies,  and  even  fashionable  society  knows  very  little  about  them.  Yet  there  is 
a  goodly  company  of  quiet  people  that  delight  in  this  series.  And  well  they  mav ; 
for  there  are  few  biographical  series  more  attractive,  more  modest,  and  more  profit- 
able than  these  "  Famous  Women."  If  one  wanted  to  send  a  birthday  or  Christ- 
mas gift  to  a  woman  one  honors,  — whether  she  is  twenty  or  sixty  years  old  need 
not  matter,  —  it  would  not  be  easy  to  select  a  better  set  than  these  volumes.  To 
be  sure,  Americans  do  not  figure  prominently  in  the  series,  a  certain  preference 
being  given  to  Englishwonren  and  Frenchwomen;  but  that  does  not  diminish  the 
intrinsic  merit  of  each  volume.  One  likes  to  add,  also,  that  nearly  the  whole  set 
has  been  written  from  a  purely  historical  or  matter-of-fact  point  of  view,  there  being 
very  little  in  the  way  of  special  pleading  or  one-sidedness.  This  applies  especially 
to  the  mother  of  the  Wesleys.  Mankind  has  treated  the  whole  Wesley  family  as 
if  it  was  the  special,  not  to  say  exclusive,  property  of  the  Methodists.  But  there 
is  no  fee-simple  in  good  men  or  women,  and  all  mankind  may  well  lay  a  certain 
claim  to  all  those  who  have  in  any  way  excelled  or  rendered  important  service  to 
mankind  at  large.  Eliza  Clarke's  life  of  Susanna  Wesley  tells  us  truly  that  she 
was  "a  lady  of  ancient  lineage,  a  woman  of  intellect,  a  keen  politician,"  and 
profoundly  religious,  as  well  as  a  shrewd  observer  of  men,  things,  and  society  at 
large.  .  .  .  Her  life  is  that  of  a  gifted,  high-minded,  and  prudent  woman.  It  is 
told  in  a  straightforward  manner,  and  it  should  be  read  far  beyond  the  lines  of  the 
Methodist  denonnnation.  There  must  have  been  many  women  in  Colonial  New 
England  who  resembled  Susanna  Wesley ;  for  she  was  a  typical  character,  both 
in  worldly  matters  and  in  her  spiritual  life.  —  The  Beacon. 

Mrs.  Wesley  was  the  mother  of  nineteen  children,  among  whom  were  John, 
the  founder,  and  Charles,  the  sweet  singer,  of  Methodism.  Her  husband  was  a 
poor  country  rector,  who  eked  out  by  writing  verses  the  slender  stipend  his  cleri- 
cal office  brought  him.  Mrs.  Wesley  was  a  woman  of  gentle  birth,  intense  reli- 
gious convictions,  strong  character,  and  singular  devotion  to  her  children.  This 
biography  is  well  written,  and  is  eminently  readable,  as  well  as  historically  valuable. 
—  Cambridge  Tribune. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers.  Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
the  price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

famous  ilDomcn  J^cric^. 

MRS.    SIDDONS. 

By  NINA   H.    KENNARD. 

One  Volume.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $i.oo. 
> 

The  latest  contribution  to  the  "  Famous  Women  Series"  gives  the  Hfe  of  Mrs. 
Siddons,  carefully  and  appreciatively  compiled  by  Nina  H.  Kennard.  Previous 
lives  ol  Mrs.  Siddons  have  failed  to  present  the  many-sided  character  of  the  great 
tragic  queen,  representing  her  more  exclusively  in  her  dramatic  capacity.  Mrs. 
Kennard  presents  the  main  facts  in  the  lives  previously  written  by  Campbell  and 
Boaden,  as  well  as  the  portion  of  the  great  actress's  history  appearing  in  Percy 
Fitzgerald's  "  Lives  of  the  Kembles ;  "  and  beyond  any  other  biographer  gives  the 
more  tender  and  domestic  side  of  her  nature,  particularly  as  shown  in  her  hitherto 
unpublished  letters.  The  story  of  the  early  dramatic  endeavors  of  the  little  Sarah 
Kemble  proves  not  the  least  interesting  part  of  the  narrative,  and  it  is  with  a  dis- 
tinct human  interest  that  her  varying  progress  is  followed  until  she  gains  the  sum- 
mit of  popular  favor  and  success.  The  picture  of  her  greatest  public  triumphs 
receives  tender  and  artistic  touches  in  the  view  we  are  given  of  the  idol  of  brilliant 
and  intellectual  London  sitting  down  with  her  husband  and  father  to  a  frugal 
home  supper  on  retiring  from  the  glare   of  the  footlights.  —  CoiiDnoim'calth. 

We  think  the  author  shows  good  judgment  in  devoting  comparatively  little 
space  to  criticism  of  Mrs.  Siddons's  dramatic  methods,  and  giving  special  at- 
tention to  her  personal  traits  and  history.  Hers  was  an  extremely  interesting 
hfe,  remarkable  no  less  for  its  private  virtues  than  for  its  public  triumphs.  Her 
struggle  to  gain  the  place  her  genius  deserved  was  heroic  in  its  persistence  and 
dignity.  Her  relations  with  the  authors,  wits,  and  notables  of  her  day  give 
occasion  for  much  entertaining  and  interesting  anecdotical  literature.  Herself  free 
from  humor,  she  was  herself  often  the  occasion  of  fun  in  others.  The  stories  of 
her  tragic  manner  in  private  life  are  many  and  ludicrous.  .  .  .  The  book  abounds 
in  anecdotes,  bits  of  criticism,  and  pictures  of  the  stage  and  of  society  in  a  very 
interesting  transitional  period. —  Christian  Union. 

A  fitting  addition  to  this  so  well  and  so  favorably  known  series  is  the  life  of  the 
wonderful  actress,  Sarah  Siddons,  by  Mrs.  Nina  Kennard.  To  most  of  the  pres- 
ent generation  the  great  woman  is  only  a  name,  though  she  lived  until  1S31  ;  but 
the  present  volume,  with  its  vivid  account  of  her  hfe,  its  struggles,  triumphs,  and 
closing  years,  will  give  to  such  a  picture  that  is  most  lifelike.  A  particularly 
pleasant  feature  of  the  book  is  the  way  in  which  the  author  quotes  so  copiously 
from  Mrs.  Siddons's  correspondence.  These  extracts  from  letters  written  to 
friends,  and  with  no  thought  of  their  ever  appearing  in  print,  give  the  most 
spontaneous  expressions  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  writer,  as  well  as  her  own 
account  of  many  events  of  her  life.  They  furnish,  therefore,  better  data  upon 
which  to  base  an  opinion  of  her  real  personality  and  character  than  anything 
else  could  possibly  give.  The  volume  is  interesting  from  beginning  to  end, 
and  one  rises  from  its  perusal  with  the  warmest  admiration  for  Sarah  Siddons 
because  of  her  great  genius,  her  real  goodness,  and  her  true  womanliness,  shown 
in  the  relations  of  daughter,  wife,  and  mother.  Modern  actresses,  amateur  or 
professional,  with  avowed  intentions  of  "elevating  the  stage,"  should  study 
this  noble  woman's  example ;  for  in  this  direction  she  accomplished  more,  prob- 
ably, than  any  other  one  person  has  ever  done,  and  at  greater  odds.  —  N.  E. 
Jouriial  0/  Edtication. 

Sold  by  all  booksellers.  Mailed.,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  tlie  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   Boston. 


Jftssrs.  Roberts  Brothers    Pitblications. 

j^aniousi  iDomcn  ^ttxt^, 

MARGARET  OF  ANGOULHME, 

QUEEN    OF    NAVARRE. 
By  a.   MARY   F.    ROBINSON. 

One  Volume.     16mo.     Cloth.      Price,  $1.00. 


The  latest  addition  to  the  excellent  "  Famous  Women  Series  "  is  a  sketch  of  the 
Queen  of  Xavarre,  one  of  the  most  deservedly  famous  women  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. In  political  influence  she  is  fitly  compared  to  Queen  Elizabeth  of  England 
and  Margaret  of  Austria ;  and  as  to  her  services  to  religion,  she  has  been  referred 
to  as  "  the  divinity  of  the  great  religious  movement  of  her  time,  and  the  ujiholder  of 
the  mere  natural  rights  of  humanity  in  an  age  that  only  respected  opinions."  The 
story  of  this  remarkable  woman  is  here  told  briefly,  and  with  a  discrimination  that 
does  credit  to  the  biographer.  —  Times-Star,  Cincinnati. 

Margaret  of  Angouleme  furnishes  a  noble  subject,  which  has  been  ably  treated. 
Miss  Robinson's  sketch  proves  thorough  research  and  a  clear  conception  of  her 
work,  possessing  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  characters  and  events  connected  with 
that  period.  She  is  in  sympathy  with  every  movement,  and  explicit  in  detail,  being 
strictly  confined  to  tacts  which  may  be  authentically  received.  .  .  .  This  excellent 
biography  is  a  source  of  enjoyment  from  the  first  page  to  the  last,  and  should  be 
read  by  every  student  and  lover  of  history.  It  abounds  in  instructive  and  enjoy- 
able reading,  furnishing  a  valuable  addition  to  this  popular  series.  —  Utica  Press. 

One  of  the  most  readable  volumes  thus  far  in  the  "  Famous  Women  Series  " 
has  just  been  published  by  Roberts  Brothers.  It  is  Mary  F.  Robinson's  "Life 
of  Margaret  of  Angouleme,  Queen  of  Navarre."  Judging  from  the  fifty  different 
authorities  that  the  writer  has  consulted,  it  is  evident  that  she  has  taken  great 
pains  to  sympathize  with  the  spint  of  the  era  which  she  describes.  Only  a  warm 
imagination,  stimulated  by  an  intimate  knowledge  of  details,  will  help  an  author 
to  make  his  reader  realize  that  the  past  was  as  present  to  those  who  lived  in  it  as 
the  present  is  to  us.  Miss  Robinson  has  compiled  a  popular  history,  that  has  the 
easy  flow  and  lifelike  picturesqueness  which  it  is  so  often  the  aim  of  the  novelist  to 
display.  Such  books  as  this,  carefully  and  even  artistically  written  as  they  are, 
help  to  fill  up  vacant  nooks  in  the  minds  of  those  who  have  read  large  histories  in 
which  personal  biography  can  hold  but  a  small  place;  while  at  the  same  time  they 
give  the  non-historical  reader  a  good  deal  of  information  which  is,  or  ought  to 
be,  more  interesting  than  many  a  fiction.  Nor  does  Miss  Robinson  estimate  the 
influence  of  Margaret  of  Angouleme  wrongly  when  she  traces  the  salvation  of  a 
nation  to  her  mercy  and  magnanimity.  —  N.  Y.  Telegram. 

It  is  reasonable  and  impartial  in  its  views,  and  yet  clear  in  its  judgments.  The 
immense  importance  of  Queen  Margaret's  influence  on  the  beginnings  of  modern 
thoughts  in  France  is  clearly  set  forth,  but  without  exaggeration  or  undue  empha- 
sis. Miss  Robinson  is  especially  happy  in  her  portrayal  of  Margaret's  complex 
iharaLter,  which  under  her  hand  becomes  both  human  and  consistent :  and  the 
volume,  although  small,  is  a  valuable  addition  to  the  history  of  Prance  in  the  six- 
teenth century.  —  Boston  Courier. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.      Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
Price,  by  the  publishers, 

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Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers   Publications. 


jFamous  SEomnx  .Scries, 


MADAME    ROLAND. 

By   MATHILDE    BLIND, 

AUTHOR    OF    "GEORGE    ELIOT'S    LIFE." 

One  volume.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price,  $i.oo. 


"  Of  all  the  interesting  biographies  published  in  the  Famous  Women  Series, 
Mathilde  Blind's  life  of  Mme.  Roland  is  by  far  the  most  fascinating.  .  .  .  But 
no  one  can  read  Mme.  Roland's  thrilling  story,  and  no  one  can  study  the  character 
of  this  noble,  heroic  woman  without  feeling  certain  that  it  is  good  for  the  world  to 
have  every  incident  of  her  life  brought  again  before  the  public  eye.  Among  the 
famous  women  who  have  been  enjoying  a  new  birth  through  this  set  of  short 
biographies,  no  single  one  has  been  worthy  of  the  adjective  great  until  we  come 
to  Mme.  Roland.  .  .  . 

"We  see  a  brilliant  intellectual  women  in  Mme.  Roland;  we  see  a  dutiful 
daughter  and  devoted  wife  ;  we  see  a  woman  going  forth  bravely  to  place  her  neck 
under  the  guillotine,  — a  woman  who  had  been  known  as  the  '  Soul  of  the  Giron- 
dins ; '  and  we  see  a  woman  struggling  with  and  not  being  overcome  by  an  intense 
and  passionate  love.  Has  history  a  more  heroic  picture  to  present  us  with  ?  Is 
there  any  woman  more  deserving  of  the  adjective  '  great'  ? 

"  Mathilde  Blind  has  had  rich  materials  from  which  to  draw  for  Mme.  Roland's 
biography.  She  writes  graphically,  and  describes  some  o£  the  terrible  scenes 
in  the  French  Revolution  with  great  picturesqueness.  The  writer's  sympatliy 
with  Mme.  Roland  and  her  enthusiasm  is  very  contagious ;  and  we  follow  her 
record  almost  breathlessly,  and  with  intense  feeling  turn  over  the  last  few  pages 
of  this  little  volume.  No  one  can  doubt  that  this  life  was  worth  the  writing, 
and  even  earnest  students  of  the  French  Revolution  will  be  glad  to  refresh  Uieir 
memories  of  Lamartine's  '  History  of  the  Girondins,'  and  again  have  brought 
vividly  before  them  the  terrible  tragedy  of  Mme.  Roland's  life  and  death."  — 
Boston  Evenmg-  Transcript. 

•'  The  thrilling  story  of  Madame  Roland's  genius,  nobility,  self-sacrifice,  and 
death  loses  nothing  in  its  retelling  here.  The  material  has  been  collected  and 
arranged  in  an  unbroken  and  skilfully  narrated  sketch,  each  picturesque  or  exciting 
incident  being  brought  out  into  a  strong  light.  The  book  is  one  of  the  best  in  an 
excellent  series."  —  Christian  Union. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    P.oston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  Pitblications. 


JFamoiis  i^nomfn  Scries. 


HARRIET   MARTINEAU. 

By  Mrs.  F.  FENWICK   MILLER. 

i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  $i.oo. 


"  Tlie  almost  'iniform  excellence  of  the  '  Famous  Women  '  series  is  well  sus- 
tained in  Mrs.  Fenwick  Miller's  life  of  Harriet  Martineau,  the  latest  addition  to 
this  little  library  of  biography.  Indeed,  we  are  disposed  to  rank  it  as  the  best  of 
the  lot.  The  subject  is  an  entertaining  one,  and  Mrs.  Miller  has  done  her  work 
admirably.  Miss  Martineau  was  a  remarkable  woman,  in  a  century  that  has  not 
been  deficient  in  notable  characters.  Her  native  genius,  and  her  perseverance  in 
developing  it  ;  her  trials  and  afflictions,  and  the  determination  with  which  she  rose 
superior  to  them  ;  her  conscientious  adherence  to  principle,  and  the  important 
place  which  her  writings  hold  in  the  political  and  educational  literature  of  her  day, 
—  all  combine  to  make  the  story  of  her  life  one  of  exceptional  interest.  .  .  .  With 
the  exception,  possibly,  of  George  Eliot,  Harriet  Martineau  was  the  greatest  of 
English  women.  She  was  a  poet  and  a  novelist,  but  not  as  such  did  she  make 
good  her  title  to  distinction.  Much  more  noteworthy  were  her  achievements  in 
other  lines  of  thought,  not  usually  essayed  by  women.  She  W'as  eminent  as  a 
political  economist,  a  theologian,  a  journalist,  and  a  historian.  .  .  .  But  to  attempt 
a  mere  outline  of  her  life  and  works  is  out  of  the  question  in  our  limited  space. 
Her  biography  should  be  read  by  all  iu  search  of  entertainment." — Professor 
IVoods  in  Saturday  Mirror. 

"The  present  volume  has  already  shared  the  fate  of  several  of  the  recent  biog- 
raphies of  the  distmguished  dead,  and  has  been  well  advertised  by  the  public  coii" 
tradiction  of  more  or  less  important  points  in  the  relation  by  the  living  friends  of  the 
dead  genius.  One  of  Mrs.  Miller's  chief  concerns  in  writing  this  life  seems  to 
have  been  to  redeem  the  character  of  Harriet  Martineau  from  the  appearance  of 
hardness  and  nnamiability  with  which  her  own  autobiography  impresses  the 
reader.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Miller,  however,  succeeds  in  this  volume  in  showing  us  an  alto- 
gether different  side  to  her  character,  —  a  home-loving,  neighborly,  bright-natured, 
tender-hearted,  witty,  lovable,  and  altogether  womanly  woman,  as  well  as  the  clear 
thinker,  the  philosophical  reasoner,  and  comprehensive  writer  whom  we  already 
knew." —  The  Index. 

"  Already  ten  volumes  in  this  library  are  published  ;  namely,  George  Eliot, 
Emily  Bronte,  George  .Sand,  Mary  Lamb,  Margaret  Fuller,  Maria  Edgeworlh, 
Elizabeth  Fry,  The  Countess  of  Albany,  Mary  Wollstonecraft,  and  the  present 
volume.  Surely  a  galaxy  of  wit  and  wealth  of  no  mean  order  !  Miss  M.  will 
rank  with  any  of  them  in  womanliness  or  gifts  or  grace.  At  home  or  abroad, 
in  public  or  private.  She  was  noble  and  true,  and  her  life  stands  confessed  a  suc- 
cess. True,  she  was  literary,  but  she  was  a  home  lover  and  home  builder.  She 
never  lost  the  higher  aims  and  ends  of  life,  no  matter  how  flattering  her  success. 
This  whole  series  ought  to  be  read  by  the  young  ladies  of  to  day.  More  of  such 
biography  would  prove  highly  beneficial." —  Troy  Telegrai7i. 


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famous  SEomrn  Scries* 


RACHEL. 

By  Mrs.  NINA  H.  KENNAED. 
One  Volume.    16mo.    Cloth.    Price,  $1.00. 


"  Rachel,  by  Nina  H.  Kennard,  is  an  interesting  sketch  of  the  famous 
woman  whose  passion  and  genius  won  for  her  an  ahnost  unrivalled  fame  as 
an  actress.  The  story  of  Rachel's  career  is  of  the  most  brilliant  success  in 
art  and  of  the  most  pathetic  failure  in  character.  Her  faults,  many  and 
grievous,  are  overlooked  in  this  volume,  and  the  better  aspects  of  her  nature 
and  history  are  recorded."  — Hartford   Coiirant. 

"The  book  is  well  planned,  has  been  carefully  constructed,  and  is 
pleasantly  written." —  The  Critic. 

"  The  life  of  Mile.  ]^lisa  Rachel  Felix  has  never  been  adequately  told, 
and  the  appearance  of  her  biography  in  the  '  Famous  Women  Series '  of 
Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  will  be  welcomed.  .  .  .  Yet  we  must  be  glad  the 
book  is  written,  and  welcome  it  to  a  place  among  the  minor  biographies ; 
and  because  there  is  nothing  else  so  good,  the  volume  is  indispensable  to 
library  and  study."  —  Boston  Evejting  Traveller. 

"Another  life  of  the  great  actress  Rachel  has  been  written.  It  forms 
part  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  that  firm  is  now  bringing  out, 
and  which  already  includes  eleven  volumes.  Mrs.  Kennard  deals  with  her 
subject  much  more  amiably  than  one  or  two  of  the  other  biographers  have 
done.  She  has  none  of  those  vindictive  feelings  which  are  so  obvious  in 
Madame  B.'s  narrative  of  the  great  tragedienne.  On  the  contrary,  she 
wants  to  be  fair,  and  she  probably  is  as  fair  as  the  materials  which  came  into 
her  possession  enabled  her  to  be.  The  endeavor  has  been  made  to  show  us 
Rachel  as  she  really  was,  by  relying  to  a  great  extent  upon  her  letters.  .  .  . 
A  good  many  stories  that  we  are  familiar  with  are  repeated,  and  some  are 
contradicted.  From  first  to  last,  however,  the  sympathy  of  the  author  is 
ardent,  whether  she  recounts  the  misery  of  Rachel's  childhood,  or  the  splen- 
did altitude  to  which  she  climbed  when  her  name  echoed  through  the  world 
and  the  great  ones  of  the  earth  vied  in  doing  her  homage.  On  this  account 
Mrs.  Kennard's  book  is  a  welcome  addition  to  the  pre-existing  biographies 
of  one  of  the  greatest  actresses  the  world  ever  saw."  —  N.Y.  Evening 
Telegrai7i. 

♦- — 

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JTamous  ^Eomcn  Series. 


MARY    WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

BY 

ELIZABETH     ROBINS     PENNELL. 

One  volume.    IGiiio.   Cloth.    Price  $1.00. 


"  So  far  as  it  has  been  published,  and  it  has  now  reached  its  ninth  volume,  the 
Famous  Women  Series  is  rather  better  on  the  whole  than  the  English  Men  of 
Letters  Series.  One  had  but  to  recall  the  names  and  characteristics  of  some 
of  the  women  with  whom  it  deals,  —  literary  women,  like  Maria  Edgeworth, 
Margaret  Fuller,  Mary  Lamb,  Emily  Bronte,  George  Eliot,  and  George  Sand; 
women  of  the  world  (not  to  mention  the  other  parties  in  that  well-known  Scrii>- 
tural  firm),  like  the  naughty  but  fascinating  Countess  of  Albany ;  and  women  of 
philanthropy,  of  which  the  only  example  given  here  so  far  is  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Fry,  —  one  has  but  to  compare  the  intellectual  qualities  of  the  majority  of  English 
men  of  letters  to  perceive  that  the  former  are  the  most  difficult  to  handle,  and 
that  a  series  of  which  -they  are  the  heroines  is,  if  successful,  a  remarkable  col- 
lection of  biographies.  We  thought  so  as  we  read  Miss  Blind's  study  of  George 
Sand,  and  Vernon  I^ee's  study  of  the  Countess  of  Albany,  and  we  think  so  now 
that  we  have  read  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Robins  Pennell's  study  of  Mary  Wollstone- 
craft,  who,  with  all  her  faults,  was  an  honor  to  her  sex.  She  was  not  so  consid- 
ered while  she  lived,  except  by  those  who  knew  her  well,  nor  for  years  after  her 
death ;  but  she  is  so  considered  now,  even  by  the  granddaughters  of  the  good 
ladies  who  so  bitterly  condemned  her  when  the  century  was  new.  She  was 
notable  for  the  sacrifices  that  she  made  for  her  worthless  father  and  her  weak, 
inefiRcient  sisters,  for  her  dogged  persistence  and  untiring  industry,  and  for  her 
independence  and  her  courage.  The  soul  of  goodness  was  in  her,  though  she 
would  be  herself  and  go  on  her  own  way  ;  and  if  she  loved  not  wisely,  according 
to  the  world's  creed,  she  loved  too  well  for  her  own  happiness,  and  paid  the 
penalty  of  suffering.  What  she  might  have  been  if  she  had  not  met  Capt. 
Gilbert  Imlay,  who  was  a  scoundrel,  and  William  Godwin,  who  was  a  philosopher, 
can  only  be  conjectured.  She  was  a  force  in  literature  and  in  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  her  sisterhood,  and  as  such  was  worthy  of  the  remembrance  which  she 
will  long  retain  through  Mrs.  Pennell's  able  memoir."  —  R.  H.  Stoddard,  in  tht 
Mail  and  Express. 


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FAMOUS    WOMEN    SERIES. 

THE  COUNTESS  OF  ALBANY. 

BY    VERNON    LEE. 
One  volume.    16mo.     Cloth.     Price  Sl.OO. 


"It  IS  no  disparagement  to  the  many  excellent  previous  sketches  to  say  that 
'The  Countess  of  Albany,'  by  Vernon  Lee,  is  decidedly  the  cleverest  of  the  series 
of  biographies  of '  B'amous  Women,'  published  in  this  country  by  Roberts  Brothers, 
Boston.  In  the  present  instance  there  is  a  freer  subject,  a  little  farther  removed 
from  contemporary  events,  and  sufficiently  out  of  the  way  of  prejudice  to  admit  of 
a  lucid  handling.  Moreover,  there  is  a  trained  hand  at  the  work,  and  a  mind 
not  only  familiar  with  and  in  sympathy  with  the  character  under  discussion,  but 
also  at  home  with  the  ruling  forces  of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  were  the  forces 
that  made  the  Countess  of  Albany  what  she  was.  The  biography  is  really  dual,  trac- 
ing the  life  of  Alfieri,  for  twenty-five  years  the  heart  and  soul  companion  of  the 
Countess,  quite  as  carefully  as  it  traces  that  of  the  fixed  subject  of  the  sketch."  — 
Philadelphia  Times. 

"To  be  unable  altogether  to  acquiesce  in  Vernon  Lee's  portrait  of  Louise  of 
Stolberg  does  not  militate  against  our  sense  of  the  excellence  of  her  work.  Her 
pictures  of  eighteenth-century  Italy  are  definite  and  brilliant.  They  are  instinct 
with  a  quality  that  is  akin  to  magic."  —  London  Acadeviy. 

"  In  the  records  of  famous  women  preserved  in  the  interesting  series  which 
has  been  devoted  to  such  noble  characters  as  Margaret  Fuller,  Elizabeth  Fry,  and 
George  Eliot,  the  life  of  the  Countess  of  Albany  holds  a  unique  place.  Louise  of 
Albany,  or  Louise  R.,  as  she  liked  to  sign  herself,  possessed  a  character  famed, 
not  for  domestic  virtues,  nor  even  for  peculiar  wisdom  and  creative  power,  but 
rather  notorious  for  an  easy-going  indifference  to  conventionality  and  a  worldly 
wisdom  and  cynicism.  Her  life,  which  is  a  singular  exponent  of  the  false  ideas 
prevalent  upon  the  subject  of  love  and  marriage  in  the  eighteenth  century,  is  told 
by  Vernon  Lee  in  a  vivid  and  discriminating  manner.  The  biography  is  one  of 
the  most  fascinating,  if  the  most  sorrowful,  of  the  series."  —  Boston  Jonr}tal. 

"  She  is  the  first  really  historical  character  who  has  appeared  on  the  literary 
horizon  of  this  particular  series,  her  predecessors  having  been  limited  to  purely 
literary  women.  This  brilliant  little  biography  is  strongly  written.  Unlike  pre- 
ceding writers  —  German,  French,  and  English  —  on  the  same  subject,  the  author 
does  not  hastily  pass  over  the  details  of  the  Platonic  relations  that  existed  between 
the  Countess  and  the  celebrated  Italian  poet  '  Alfieri.'  In  this  biography  the 
details  of  that  passionate  friendship  are  given  with  a  fidelity  to  truth,  and  a  knowl- 
edge of  its  nature,  that  is  based  upon  the  strictest  and  most  conscientious  inves- 
tigation, and  access  to  means  heretofore  unattainable  to  other  biographers.  The 
history  of  this  friendship  is  not  only  exceedingly  interesting,  but  it  presents  a 
fascinating  psychological  study  to  those  who  are  interested  m  the  metaphysical 
aspect  of  human  nature.  The  book  is  almost  as  much  of  a  biography  of '  Alfieri ' 
as  it  is  of  the  wife  of  the  Pretender,  who  expected  to  become  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land."—  H art/or d  Times. 

« 

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-»- "  

JTamous  SHomcn  Scries* 

ELIZABETH    FRY, 

By  Mrs.  E.  R.  PITMAN. 

One  vol.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  $i.oo. 


"  In  the  records  of  famous  women  there  are  few  more  noble  examples  of 
Christian  womanhood  and  pliilanthropic  enthusiasm  than  the  life  of  Elizabeth 
Fry  presents.  Her  character  was  beautifully  rounded  and  complete,  and  if  she 
had  not  won  fame  through  her  public  benefactions,  she  would  have  been  no  less 
esteemed  and  remembered  by  all  who  knew  her  because  of  her  domestic  virtues, 
her  sweet  womanly  charms,  and  the  wisdom,  purity,  and  love  which  marked  her 
conduct  as  wife,  mother,  and  friend.  She  came  of  that  sound  old  Quaker  stock 
which  has  bred  so  many  eminent  men  and  women.  The  time  came  when  her 
home  functions  could  no  longer  satisfy  the  yearnings  of  a  heart  filled  with  the 
tenderest  pity  for  all  who  suffered  ;  and  her  work  was  not  far  to  seek.  The  prisons 
of  England,  nay,  of  all  Europe,  were  in  a  deplorable  condition.  In  Newgate, 
dirt,  disease,  starvation,  depravity,  drunkenness,  &c.,  prevailed.  >^11  who  sur- 
veyed the  situation  regarded  it  as  hopeless  ;  all  but  Mrs.  Fry.  She  saw  here  the 
opening  she  had  been  awaiting.  Into  this  seething  mass  she  bravely  entered,  ' 
Bible  in  hand,  and  love  and  pity  in  her  eyes  and  upon  her  lips.  If  any  one 
should  ask  which  of  all  the  famous  women  recorded  in  this  series  did  the  most 
practical  good  in  her  day  and  generation,  the  answer  must  be,  Elizabeth  Fry."  — 
New  York  Tribune. 

"  Mrs.  Pitman  has  written  a  very  interesting  and  appreciative  sketch  of  the 
life,  character,  and  eminent  services  in  the  causes  of  humanity  of  one  of  Eng- 
land's most  famous  philanthropists.  She  was  known  as  the  prison  philanthropist, 
and  probably  no  laborer  in  the  cause  of  prison  reform  ever  won  a  larger  share  of 
success,  and  certainly  none  ever  received  a  larger  meed  of  reverential  love.  No 
one  can  read  this  volume  without  feelings  of  admiration  for  the  noble  woman  who 
devoted  her  life  to  befriend  sinful  and  suffering  humanity."  —  Chicago  Evening 
jfournal. 

"  The  story  of  her  splendid  and  successful  philanthropy  is  admirably  told  by 
her  biographer,  and  every  reader  should  find  in  the  tale  a  breath  of  inspiration. 
Not  every  woman  can  become  an  Elizabeth  Fry,  but  no  one  can  fail  to  be  im- 
pressed with  the  thought  that  no  woman,  however  great  her  talent  and  ambition, 
can  fail  to  find  opportunity  to  do  a  noble  work  in  life  without  neglecting  her  own 
feminine  duties,  without  ceasing  to  dignify  all  the  distinctive  virtues  of  her  sexj 
without  fretting  and  cr\'ing  aloud  over  the  restrictions  placed  on  woman's  field  of 
work."  —  Eclectic  Jiloni/dy. 

Our  publications  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be 
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ROBERTS   BROTHERS.  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Ptiblications. 


JFamoiis  Momen  Series. 


MARGARET    FULLER. 

By    JULIA    WARD    HOWE. 

One  volume.    16mo.    Cloth.    Price  $1.00. 


"  A  memoir  of  the  woman  who  first  in  New  England  took  a  position  of  morai 
and  intellectual  leadership,  by  the  woman  who  wrote  the  Battle  Hymn  of  the 
Republic,  is  a  literary  event  of  no  common  or  transient  interest.  The  Famous 
Women  Series  will  have  no  worthier  subject  and  no  more  illustrious  biographer. 
Nor  will  the  reader  be  disappointed,  —  for  the  narrative  is  deeply  interesting  and 
full  o£  inspiration."  —  IVoman's  yoiirnal. 

"Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe's  biography  of  Margaret  Fuller,  in  the  Famous 
Women  Series  of  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers,  is  a  work  which  has  been  looked  for 
with  curiosity.  It  will  not  disappoint  expectation.  She  has  made  a  brilliant  and 
an  interesting  book.  Her  study  of  Margaret  Fuller's  character  is  thoroughly 
sympathetic  ;  her  relation  of  her  life  is  done  in  a  graphic  and  at  times  a  fascinating 
manner.  It  is  the  case  of  one  woman  of  strong  individuality  depicting  the  points 
which  made  another  one  of  the  most  marked  characters  of  her  day.  It  is  always 
agreeable  to  follow  Mrs.  Howe  in  this  ;  for  while  we  see  marks  of  her  own  mind 
constantly,  there  is  no  inartistic  protrusion  of  her  personality.  The  book  is  always 
readable,  and  the  relation  of  the  death-scene  is  thrillingly  impressive.''  — Satur- 
day Gazette. 

"  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe  has  retold  the  story  of  Margaret  Fuller's  life  and 
career  in  a  very  interesting  manner.  This  remarkable  woman  was  happy  in 
having  James  Freeman  Clarke,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  William  Henry 
Channing,  all  of  whom  had  been  intimate  with  her  and  had  felt  the  spell  of  her 
extraordinary  personal  influence,  for  her  biographers.  It  is  needless  to  say,  of 
course,  that  nothing  could  be  better  than  these  reminiscences  in  their  way."  — 
New  York  World. 

"The  selection  of  Mrs,  Howe  as  the  writer  of  this  biography  was  a  happy 
thought  on  the  part  of  the  editor  of  the  series;  for,  aside  from  the  natural  appre- 
ciation she  would  have  for  Margaret  Fuller,  comes  her  knowledge  of  all  the 
influences  that  had  their  effect  on  Margaret  Fuller's  life.  She  tells  the  story  of 
Margaret  Fuller's  interesting  life  from  all  sources  and  from  her  own  knowledge, 
not  hesitating  to  use  plenty  of  quotations  when  she  felt  that  others,  or  even 
Margaret  Fuller  herself,  had  done  the  work  better."  —  Rliss  Gilder.,  in  Philadel- 
phia Press. 

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JFamous  SEomnt  Scries. 


MARIA    EDGEWORTH. 

By    HELEN    ZIMMERN. 

One  volume.    16mo.    Cloth.    Price  $1.00. 


"  This  little  volume  shows  good  literary  workmanship.  It  does  not  weary  the 
reader  with  vague  theories ;  nor  does  it  give  over  much  expression  to  the  enthu- 
siasm —  not  to  say  baseless  encomium  —  for  which  too  many  female  biographers 
have  accustomed  us  to  look.  It  is  a  simple  and  discriminative  sketch  of  one  of 
the  most  clever  and  lovable  of  the  class  at  whom  Carlyle  sneered  as  '  scribbling 
women.'  .  .  .  Of  Maria  Edgeworth,  the  woman,  one  cannot  easily  say  too 
much  in  praise.  That  home  life,  so  loving,  so  wise,  and  so  helpful,  was  beautiful 
to  its  end.  Miss  Zimmern  has  treated  it  with  delicate  appreciation.  Her  book 
is  refined  in  conception  and  tasteful  in  execution,—  all,  in  short,  the  cynic  might 
say,  that  we  expect  a  woman's  book  to  be."  —  N'ew  York  Tribune. 

"  It  was  high  time  that  we  should  possess  an  adequate  biography  of  this  orna- 
ment and  general  benefactor  of  her  time.  And  so  we  hail  with  uncommon  pleas- 
ure the  volume  just  published  in  the  Roberts  Brothers'  series  of  Famous  Women, 
of  which  it  is  the  sixth.  We  have  only  words  of  praise  for  the  manner  in  which 
Miss  Zimmern  has  written  her  life  of  Maria  Edgeworth.  It  exhibits  sound 
Judgment,  critical  analysis,  and  clear  characterization.  .  .  .  The  style  of  the 
volume  is  pure,  limpid,  and  strong,  as  we  might  expect  from  a  well-trained  Eng- 
lish writer."  — Margaret  J.  Preston,  in  ike  Home  Journal. 

"  We  can  heartily  recommend  this  life  of  Maria  Edgeworth,  not  only  because  it 
is  singularly  readable  in  itself,  but  because  it  makes  familiar  to  readers  of  the 
present  age  a  notable  figure  in  English  literary  history,  with  whose  lineaments 
we  suspect  most  readers,  especially  of  the  present  generation,  are  less  familiar 
than  they  ought  to  be."  —  Eclectic. 

"  This  biography  contains  several  letters  and  papers  by  Miss  Edgeworth  that 
have  not  before  been  made  public,  notably  some  charming  letters  written  during 
the  latter  part  of  her  life  to  Dr.  Holland  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ticknor.  The  author 
had  access  to  a  life  of  ]\Iiss  Edgeworth  written  by  her  step-mother,  as  well  as  to  a 
large  collection  of  her  private  letters,  and  has  therefore  been  able  to  bring  forward 
many  facts  in  her  life  which  have  not  been  noted  by  other  writers.  The  book  is 
written  in  a  pleasant  vein,  and  is  altogether  a  delightful  one  to  read."—  Uiica 
Herald. 


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FAMOUS    WOMEN    SERIES. 


GEORGE     SAND. 

By    bertha    THOMAS. 
One  volume.     i6mo.     Cloth.    Price,  %i.oo. 

"  Miss  Thomas  has  accomplished  a  difficult  task  with  as  much  good  sense  as 
good  feeling.  She  presents  the  main  facts  of  George  Sand's  life,  extenuating 
nothing,  and  setting  naught  down  in  malice,  but  wisely  leaving  her  readers  to 
form  their  own  conclusions.  Everybody  knows  that  it  was  not  such  a  life  as  the 
women  of  England  and  America  are  accustomed  to  live,  and  as  the  worst  of  men 
are  glad  to  have  them  live.  .  .  .  Whatever  may  be  said  against  it,  its  result  on 
George  Sand  was  not  what  it  would  have  been  upon  an  English  or  American 
woman  of  genius."  —  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  This  is  a  volume  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  was  begun  so  well 
with  George  Eliot  and  Emily  Bronte.  The  book  is  a  review  and  critical  analysis 
of  George  Sand's  life  and  work,  by  no  means  a  detailed  biography.  Amantine 
Lucile  Aurore  Dupin,  the  maiden,  or  Mme.  Dudevant,  the  married  woman,  is 
forgotten  in  the  renown  of  the  pseudonym  George  Sand. 

"  Altogether,  George  Sand,  with  all  her  excesses  and  defects,  is  a  representative 
woman,  one  of  the  names  of  the  nineteenth  century.  She  was  great  among  the 
greatest,  the  friend  and  compeer  of  the  finest  intellects,  and  Miss  Thomas's  essay 
will  be  a  useful  and  agreeable  introduction  to  a  more  extended  study  of  her  life 
and  works."  —  Knickerbocker. 

"  The  biography  of  this  famous  woman,  by  Miss  Thomas,  is  the  only  one  in 
existence.  Those  who  have  awaited  it  with  pleasurable  anticipation,  but  with 
some  trepidation  as  to  the  treatment  of  the  erratic  side  of  her  character,  cannot 
fail  to  be  pleased  with  the  skill  by  which  it  is  done.  It  is  the  best  production  on 
George  Sand  that  has  yet  been  published.  The  author  modestly  refers  to  it  as  a 
sketch,  which  it  undoubtedly  is,  but  a  sketch  that  gives  a  just  and  discriminating 
analysis  of  George  Sand's  life,  tastes,  occupations,  and  of  the  motives  and  impulses 
which  prompted  her  unconventional  actions,  that  were  misunderstood  by  a  narrow 
public.  The  difficulties  encountered  by  the  writer  in  describing  this  remarkable 
character  are  shown  in  the  first  line  of  the  opening  chapter,  which  says,  '  In  nam- 
ing George  Sand  we  name  something  more  exceptional  than  even  a  great  genius.' 
That  tells  the  whole  story.  Misconstruction,  condemnation,  and  isolation  are  the 
penalties  enforced  upon  the  great  leaders  in  the  realm  of  advanced  thought,  by 
the  bigoted  people  of  their  time.  The  thinkers  soar  beyond  the  common  herd, 
whose  soul-wings  are  not  strong  enough  to  fly  aloft  to  clearer  atmospheres,  and 
consequently  they  censure  or  ridicule  what  they  are  powerless  to  reach.  George 
Sand,  even  !o  a  greater  extent  than  her  contemporary,  George  Eliot,  was  a  victim 
to  ignorant  social  prejudices,  but  even  the  conservative  world  was  forced  to  recog- 
nize the  matchless  genius  of  these  two  extraordinary  women,  each  widely  different 
in  her  character  and  method  of  thought  and  writing.  :  ..  She  has  told  much  that 
is  good  which  has  been  untold,  and  just  what  will  interest  the  reader,  and  no  more, 
'"ji  the  same  easy,  entertaining  style  that  characterizes  all  of  these  unpretentious 
jographies."  —  Hart/ord  Times. 


Sold  everywhere.     Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,    Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 
FAMOUS  WOMEN  SERIES. 

EMILY  Bronte. 

By    a.    MARY    F.    ROBINSON. 
One  vol.   16mo.  Clotli.  Price,  $1.00. 

"  Miss  Robinson  has  written  a  fascinating  biography.  .  .  .  Emily  Bronte  is 
interesting,  not  because  she  wrote  '  Wuthering  Heights,'  but  because  of  lier 
brave,  baffled,  human  life,  so  lonely,  so  full  of  pain,  but  with  a  great  hope  shining 
beyond  all  the  darkness,  and  a  passionate  defiance  in  bearing  more  than  the 
burdens  that  were  laid  upon  her.  The  story  of  the  three  sisters  is  infinitely  sad, 
but  it  is  the  ennobling  sadness  that  belongs  to  large  natures  cramped  and  striving 
for  freedom  to  heroic,  almost  desperate,  work,  with  little  or  no  result.  The  author 
of  this  intensely  interesting,  sympathetic,  and  eloquent  biography,  is  a  young  lady 
and  a  poet,  to  whom  a  place  is  given  in  a  recent  anthology  of  living  English  poets, 
which  is  supposed  to  contain  only  the  best  poems  of  the  best  writers."  —  Boston 
Daily  Advertiser. 

"Miss  Robinson  had  many  excellent  qualifications  for  the  task  she  has  per- 
formed in  this  little  volume,  among  which  may  be  named,  an  enthusiastic  interest 
in  her  subject  and  a  real  sympathy  with  Emily  Bronte's  sad  and  heroic  life.  'To 
represent  her  as  she  was,'  says  Miss  Robinson,  '  would  be  her  noblest  and  most 
dtting  monument.'  .  .  .  Emily  Bronte  here  becomes  well  known  to  us  and,  in  one 
sense,  this  should  be  praise  enough  for  any  biography.''  —  New  York  Times. 

"The  biographer  who  finds  such  material  before  him  as  the  lives  and  characters 
of  the  Bronte  family  need  have  no  anxiety  as  to  the  interest  of  his  work.  Char- 
acters not  only  strong  but  so  uniquely  strong,  genius  so  supreme,  misfortunes  so 
overwhelming,  set  in  its  scenery  so  forlornly  picturesque,  could  not  fail  to  attract 
all  readers,  if  told  even  in  the  most  prosaic  language.  When  we  add  to  this,  that 
Miss  Robinson  has  told  their  story  }iot  in  prosaic  language,  but  with  a  literary 
style  exhibiting  all  the  qualities  essential  to  good  biography,  our  readers  will 
understand  that  this  life  of  Emily  Bronte  is  not  only  as  interesting  as  a  novel,  but 
a  great  deal  more  interesting  than  most  novels.  As  it  presents  most  vividly  a 
general  picture  of  the  family,  there  seems  hardly  a  reason  for  giving  it  Emily's  name 
alone,  except  perhaps  for  the  masterly  chapters  on  "  Wuthering  Heights,'  which 
the  reader  will  find  a  grateful  condensation  of  the  best  in  that  powerful  but  some- 
what forbidding  story.  We  know  of  no  point  in  the  Bronte  history  —  their  genius, 
their  surroundings,  their  faults,  their  happiness,  their  misery,  their  love  and  friend- 
ships, their  peculiarities,  their  power,  their  gentleness,  their  patience,  their  pride, 
—  which  Miss  Robinson  has  not  touched  upon  with  conscientiousness  and  sym- 
pathy."—  The  Critic. 

"  '  Emily  Bronte  '  is  the  second  of  the  '  Famous  Women  Series,'  which  Roberts 
Brothers,  Boston,  propose  to  publish,  and  of  which  '  George  Eliot '  was  the  initial 
volume.  Not  the  least  remarkable  of  a  very  remarkable  family,  the  personage 
whose  life  is  here  written,  possesses  a  peculiar  interest  to  all  who  are  at  all  familiar 
with  the  sad  and  singular  history  of  herself  and  her  sister  Charlotte.  That  the 
author,  Miss  A.  Mary  F.  Robinson,  has  done  her  work  with  minute  fidelity  to 
facts  as  well  as  affectionate  devotion  to  the  subject  of  her  sketch,  is  plainly  to  be 
Been  all  through  the  book."  —  IVashington  Post. 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers,  or  mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
price,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


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